Recruitment Policy
by whingymcgregor
Summary: Torchwood try to move on after the events of Exit Wounds, but will they live long enough to pick new recruits? Jack/Ianto Gwen/Rhys
1. Chapter 1

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Disclaimer: I don't own Torchwood.

Warning: Spoilers for Exit wounds.

A/N Massive thanks to Aelfgyfu for betaing.

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When Robert Carmichael woke on a typically wet summer's morning in London, he went about his usual routine with a usual lack of enthusiasm. Brushing his teeth in his usual way, selecting his trousers and shirt in the usual way (whatever was closest to hand) making his tea in the usual way, burning his toast in his usual way and spilling his tea down his shirt as he usually did every morning.

So there was absolutely nothing to suggest to Robert Carmichael that this day would be in any way exceptional. Just another normal day, in a boring job, working for people who couldn't even begin to appreciate his brilliance.

Robert left the house at 8:15, which gave him plenty of time to walk from his apartment to London's City Centre where his office was situated. He worked in a non-descript office block no different than all the other office blocks littering the London skyline. It was slightly better kept than most but had nothing to recommend it to a casual observer.

There was absolutely nothing about the building that would reveal it as one of the offices for UNIT, the International community's official organisation for dealing with alien threats.

As he passed through the foyer of the building Robert only paused momentarily to give the receptionist a small smile, which she met with a stony glare. He'd fancied her for ages when he first joined UNIT nearly four years ago but had since gone off her as she was, quite frankly, a cold-hearted cow.

Robert ignored the other employees milling around the foyer, talking about classified events he'd never have the security clearance to know about, moving briskly he swiped his ID card and stepped into the lift which had no buttons and would take him automatically to the third floor.

The third floor was the dullest and most mocked department in the entirety of the UNIT organisation. They dealt with the lowest form of alien catching: mostly the administration matters involved when intergalactic refugees were marooned on earth and were assimilated.

This was the wasteland of the UNIT Empire, full of the disgraced and those who were deemed an embarrassment. Ted had once been a high flier in Research and Development until he'd had a stress-related breakdown and held his entire floor hostage with what had turned out to be an alien hairdryer. Jacinta had been shunted down for having an ill-advised affair with her boss and Jonah had been demoted for using alien pheromones in order to seduce women. Robert's crime had been one of arrogance and youthful idiocy, and he was paying for it everyday in tedious paperwork and the condescending attitudes of the other UNIT employees.

Robert had been head-hunted straight out of university with a first in computer science and given a job as a member of the Programming and Decoding division on the seventeenth floor. His life was going perfectly: excellent money, a good measure of respect and appreciation, a beautiful secretary to deal with the more mundane aspects of the job. But then it had all come crashing down around him.

It was his own fault really; too clever for his own good and too cocky to be modest of his talents. He had been dared by one of his mates to try to hack into the secure files and for the sake of a round of drinks, he had. But it didn't stop there. Once he had done it once and found it ridiculously easy, Robert couldn't stop hacking into the top secret files. He learned more about aliens and conspiracy theories in a week than he had learnt in his first year of the job.

But it couldn't last and eventually he was caught and disciplined. Head office decided that whilst the incident was highly embarrassing they'd rather he stayed with them in a humiliatingly dull job than live on the outside resentful and embittered with the ability to destroy their systems. So Robert had been sent to Alien Relocation on the third floor, where he spent his time dealing with the most unexciting aspect of alien life and quietly, secretly overrode the UNIT control on his computer and honed his hacking abilities; becoming better, sharper, faster, undetectable. And when he had nothing better to do he dwelt on the 'what if's?'. Other times he stared into space and tried to think of a way to escape UNIT that didn't end in him being assassinated. Mostly, though, he cursed himself for being blind and stupid and resolved to never be so foolhardy and unthinking again.

As he exited the lift, which opened directly into a large open plan office, Robert was hailed by Nigel from Human Resources, who had been sitting in his chair waiting for him.

"Robert, lad, good to see you." Robert opened his mouth to say _good morning, _or_ why are you calling me lad when I'm three years older than you?_ Personnel files were worryingly easy to hack. But Nigel barrelled on before he had a chance to form a sentence. "You've got a letter here. All very mysterious. Who sends letters these days, eh? What with e-mail and all that? Yes, well, here you are, explicit instructions that it be hand-delivered to you personally, apparently. All very hush-hush. Yes, well, can't stand around gossiping all day. Some of us have got work to do."

And with that Nigel turned on his heel and strode from the office. Robert watched him go bemusedly and offered a "Good morning, Nigel." To his retreating back.

Robert frowned down at the envelope in his hands and went to sit at his desk distractedly, murmuring a hello to Doris who was walking by with a cup of her godawful coffee. The envelope was stark white and seemed to be expensive from its parchment-like texture; it was relieved only by the presence of flowing script in black ink bearing his name. Just 'Robert Carmichael.' No address, postmark, stamp, nothing.

Finding this more than a little strange, Robert turned the envelope over and carefully broke the seal of the envelope and pulled out the letter inside. It was typed rather than handwritten, but the signature at the bottom was of the same elegant script as the envelope.

_Dear Mr Carmichael:_

_At present the Torchwood Institute in Cardiff has a vacancy for a technician. After reviewing your file and studying your work closely, we would be delighted to offer you an interview for said position. Only the best and brightest will be considered eligible, and if for any reason you do not wish to pursue this offer, you may forget about it completely._

_The first round of interviews will be held on 22nd July at 9am at 12 Caposey Gardens, Cardiff._

_Hoping to make your acquaintance soon._

_Yours,_

_Ianto Jones, Administrator, Torchwood Three_

Robert frowned at the letter and reread it. What the hell was Torchwood? Well, there really was only one way he could possibly find out. Smiling slightly to himself Robert took off his jacket and hung it on the back of his seat. Cracking his knuckles dramatically he logged into his computer and began the 'not-nearly-so-tricky-as-they-thought' business of hacking into UNIT's Priority Clearance files; they really should replace those idiots on the 13th floor.

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At 8:45 on the 22nd of July, Robert was sitting in the reception area of what appeared to be a completely empty tower block in one of Cardiff's busiest streets. There was no receptionist at the desk but there were fifteen other people in the room with him all dressed in business suits with varying degree of formality. No one spoke, and Robert found the silence heavy and oppressive.

Looking at his fellow applicants Robert found it hard to not be intimidated. There seemed to be a wide age-range from one girl who could have passed for a post-graduate student who was eying the competition with a discerning eye to an old man with a black and silver cane who was reading the Financial Times. Mostly, however, the applicants seemed to be around his age, thirty to forty, young up-and-comers who excelled in their field. He knew the type from London; hell, he'd been one of them ten years ago.

As far as he could tell from the upper-level files he'd decoded, Torchwood was like UNIT but more dangerous, less institutionalised and more prestigious. It was no surprise that so many candidates had wanted a piece of the Torchwood pie. Aside from the complete cock-up in London a few years ago, which UNIT had covered up so well that he hadn't even heard a whiff of Torchwood, Torchwood were generally the elite. The most interesting piece of information, though, was that Torchwood technically outranked UNIT and if they chose to hire him he'd be out of his self-inflicted exile on the third floor.

At 8:59 the front door swung open and a young man in an expensive suit strode purposefully into the room. The man was tall and slim and was wearing a black suit with a black shirt and a sapphire tie. He offered them all a bland smile. "Good morning ladies and gentlemen; if you could follow me."

The man in the suit walked decisively through the foyer and into a large conference room that was efficiently and sparsely arranged, with little more than a seat for each of the applicants at a large oak table which stretched the length of the room and a bottle of water at each place. Robert silently grieved the absence of coffee; he'd even settle for tea at his rate. The suited man strode to the head of the table and gestured for them to take a seat.

"Good morning and welcome to the first of the clearance interviews for the positions at Torchwood Cardiff. My name is Ianto Jones, and I will conduct the initial interviews today. Before we go any further you will all be required to sign the Official Secrets Act, a copy of which is in front of each of you. I realise you may have already signed at your current place of employment, but it is company policy to have a recent copy for our records."

Robert looked down and realised that there was indeed a contract in front of him as well as a black pen placed at a right angle to the side of the paper with such precision that he wondered if the person who put it there had used a protractor. They'd made him sign this at UNIT when he started, he hadn't read it.

He glanced over to see the majority of the people signing it directly whilst a few were flipping through the pages, and, deciding that he'd come this far and that anything with Torchwood would be better than his current dead end job, he flipped to the last page and signed.

Then he sat back and took a better look at Mr Jones. The man was younger than he, by a few years at least; he didn't look much older than twenty-five. He was easily the youngest person in the room; in fact there were a few people in the room old enough to be his parents. That made Robert want to laugh so he quickly changed tack and studied the table in front of him with dedication.

Once everyone had signed Mr Jones moved silently around the room taking each contract and sealing it into an airproof bag with a stylised 'T' made from hexagons on it. When this chore was completed he placed them into a cast iron box that Robert only just noticed and sealed it with a digital code.

Looking up he gave them a polite smile again. "Just a few moments before we begin the formal interviews: I have a couple of instructions to give you. Firstly, if for any reason I am urgently called away, the interviews will be postponed and you will be contacted with new information as soon as possible. If this unlikely event occurs, you will be put up in a hotel for the duration of your stay. Secondly, this group will be halved by the end of the day. Eight of you will not be eligible for either post. There will be four Doctors and four technicians left who will proceed to phase two of the interviewing procedure. Are there any questions?"

A woman dressed in a smart trouser suit who looked to be around forty further down the table raised his hand, "Yes, Ms Smith." Mr Jones nodded to her politely.

"Yes Mr _Jones_." She sneered at him, "I recognise your face; you worked in Torchwood London?" He nodded to her, ignoring the sneer. "That is correct."

"Weren't you a secretary there?" She was glaring at him in a cold manner. "Are we getting interviewed by Harkness' bloody secretary? This is a disgrace; they should at least have sent someone with managerial experience."

Robert held his breath as he knew everyone else at the table was and stared at Mr Jones, wondering how he'd react to such an affront. Surprisingly, he didn't react at all.

His face remained impassive and when he spoke his voice was level and calm: "As you may remember, Ms Smith, the managerial staff at Torchwood London are responsible for over 800 deaths, so naturally enough Captain Harkness has little faith in the managerial training of Torchwood One. As for my credentials, I am the second most senior member of Torchwood Cardiff, which with the fall of London became the main branch. But that is beside the point. I'm not the one interviewing for a job here. You are."

The lady who had spoken, Ms Smith, seemed suitably chastised and flushed, dropping her eyes from Mr Jones' unsettlingly steady gaze. The man turned back to address the other candidates and swept the room once with a level gaze before calling the first candidate, a woman- Dr. McCartney-, to follow him into a little anteroom off the conference room they were in.

Robert became getting increasingly nervous as six candidates went in before him, including the obnoxious Ms Smith, and all emerged smiling and seemed pleased with their interview, no doubt certain they had gained a call back.

He was anxious about his interview; he was next on Mr Jones' list, mentally preparing his answers to possible questions, running his CV over in his head, concocting possible excuses to explain his demotion, meticulously examining all possible avenues that Mr Jones might choose to pursue and forming faultless answers-that would leave no doubt that he was the man for he job.

But when the anteroom door opened, Mr Jones rushed out and apologised courteously, asking them to wait for a taxi to bring them directly to the hotel. "I'll contact you as soon as possible. Terribly sorry about this but we're having a bit of an emergency."

Robert and the others watched in shock as Mr Jones picked up the metal box, slipped an earpiece into his ear and pulled a gun out of his briefcase, tucking it into his trouser waistband. With another apology he rushed out the door and jumped into the back of a black SUV that had just screeched to a halt in front of the building.

"Flash git," Robert heard someone mutter. "Yeah, but how much do you want the job now?" someone else replied. Robert was inclined to agree; at this moment in time he wanted nothing more than to join the enigmatic Mr Jones in his alien hunting.

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That night, after a large dinner ordered on the Torchwood expense account, Robert was lying in his huge suite debating the advisability of drinking the mini-bar and leaving Torchwood to foot the tab when there was a brisk knock at the door.

He padded over to the door in bare feet and the complementary bath robe, opening the door to the head concierge, who obviously deemed himself too important to be delivering mail if his sour expression was anything to go by. "Your messages, sir." His tone was as discourteous as it could be without risking offence. Robert took the letter without a word and slammed the door in his face. He heard an indignant huff from the corridor and smiled to himself.

The letter was once again from Torchwood and was handwritten this time in what he was coming to recognise as Ianto Jones' neat hand:

_Dear Mr Carmichael:_

_I apologise profusely for any inconvenience caused by today's unfortunate interruption. I have taken the liberty of notifying your office of your extended absence. The interviews will be completed tomorrow at 9am in the same location. For tonight, please enjoy the hotel's resources to the full and place all expenses on your room's tab; we will take care of the bill._

_Look forward to seeing you tomorrow._

_Yours,_

_Ianto Jones, Administrator, Torchwood Three._

Robert dropped the letter onto the bed and walked over to the mini-bar; well if Torchwood were footing the bill, this opportunity was too good to miss.

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The next morning at 8:45, Robert walked into the foyer of the tower block with a surprisingly clear head. There were fewer people here today. There were only eight other people in the reception area: three men and five women all dressed in yesterday's black suits with black umbrellas and black briefcases (the suits no doubt laundered overnight at Torchwood's expense). Robert felt slightly out of place in his beige trousers, blue shirt, casual blazer and well-worn laptop case. He wasn't wearing a tie and he didn't even own an umbrella. Maybe he should have laundered his suit instead of concentrating on the mini bar.

Robert looked over the other applicants again -nine including himself; that meant two of the other hopefuls had bailed following Jones' dramatic exit yesterday. Or had they received information that he wasn't privy to? Been scared off by Jones' abrupt manner? Been disposed off by an overzealous applicant? Been killed in a tragic sauna accident back at the five-star hotel? Robert tried to hide a giggle behind a cough.

Mr Jones arrived at 8:59 in another startlingly sharp suit which made all the suits of the applicants look dull and cheap. The well-cut black suit, aubergine shirt and tie did nothing to detract from the rather obvious black eye and split lip that the young man was sporting. Nor did it hide the gash near his hairline or the slight stiffness with which he moved, distinctly different from the coiled elegance of his stride the day before.

He was obviously not the only person in the room to notice Jones' dishevelled appearance as the other applicants openly gaped at the young man. Jones seemed unmoved by their scrutiny and just gave them a polite smile.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. I must apologise for yesterday's unavoidable interruption. Now, if we could just relocate to the room we were in yesterday, I shall pick up from where I left off. I believe that was with you, Mr Carmichael."

Robert glanced up startled to find Jones' cool blue gaze on him. He nodded briefly and gathering his blazer and laptop case, followed Mr Jones through into the anteroom that had been used yesterday.

Robert craned his neck as he walked into the room; it was a sharp contrast to the white walls and sheer glass planes of the conference room. The anteroom was wood-panelled in a manner more suited to a stately manor than a tower block. It reminded Robert vividly of a National Trust property that he had visited on a lazy Sunday with his ex-girlfriend. They had spent the morning on a tour of the house laughing at the tour guide's overenthusiastic descriptions of the décor and watched the sun set as they'd strolled through the picturesque gardens.

A light cough brought him back to himself and he glanced down to where Mr Jones was standing behind an old antique desk, smiling lightly at him. "Take a seat, Mr Carmichael." Robert blushed and moved to the chair that Mr Jones gestured to.

"Well, Mr Carmichael, your CV is highly impressive, and you appear to have all the attributes we are looking for in the candidate, despite certain indiscretions." Jones gave a mild smile and Robert blushed. "But I will need to ask you a few work-related questions to be certain. If this interview is successful you will be asked to attend a second interview with branch director Captain Harkness to gauge your suitability to our specific type of work. Do you have any questions?"

Robert shook his head mutely and removed his gaze from his knees to the other man's face; he was rather surprised to see Mr Jones giving him an encouraging smile. "Very well, I'll keep this as brief as possible."

"Have you had any firearm training?"

"Would that be essential?" Robert was surprised; his level of work at UNIT didn't let him within 100 yards of a gun. Mr Jones glanced up from the papers in front of him and raised an eyebrow which stretched the bruise around his eye in a painful-looking manner.

"Not at all, we can provide training; I just wanted to get a level of competency." Robert sighed. "No, none to speak of; they don't give the computer geeks guns." he added a little bitterly. To his surprise, Jones gave a small, more sincere, smile. "More fool them."

"What, if any, contact have you had with aliens and how would you describe those interactions?"

"Met some Narkans -they were boring-, Althusians, Cremacians, Xenenoinians, Tryuxians. I can't really remember them all. I'd describe most of the interactions to be pleasant; they were all friendly and grateful for asylum." Robert was feeling very nervous of his answers, which made him wonder when he'd begun to want this job so badly.

"When did you first start hacking into secure files?"

"Well I-" Robert looked up sharply but Jones' seemed intent on the sheets on his desk. "I don't know what you mean, sir."

Jones' lips quirked at that for some unknown reason. "When did you first start hacking into secure files?" His Welsh-accented voice was calm and serious but demanded an answer.

"When I first started at UNIT, I guess; they don't tell us anything so I decided to find out for myself. That's why I was shunted into Alien Relocation. They upgraded the security system, and I got better so they wouldn't catch me again." Robert muttered but Jones' face was unreadable as he scribbled on the page in a familiar scrawl.

"So you didn't stop after your demotion?"

"No."

"You just 'got better'?"

"Yes."

"Have you ever hacked the Torchwood database?"

Robert decided that telling the truth would be more advisable than risking the wrath of a Top Secret Organisation. "Tried to, but I couldn't get passed the security systems. Whoever set those up was damn good."

Jones' pen paused of a moment before continuing its track across the page. "I believe that will be all, Mr Carmichael." Mr Jones walked around the desk and took Robert's hand in a firm clasp. From this close up Robert could see the bruising and cuts in vivid detail as well as black circles around the younger man's eyes. Piercing blue eyes that were as cold and unyielding as steel. Robert had to force himself not to flinch. "We'll be in touch."

With that Ianto Jones ushered him briskly from the room and called the next candidate and Robert was left with a gnawing feeling in his stomach, and when he recalled the dark expression on Jones' face he thought that maybe he'd made some monumental mistake and in so doing lost out on the job of a lifetime.

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Thanks for reading.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own Torchwood.

Warning: Spoilers for Exit wounds.

A/N Massive thanks to Aelfgyfu for betaing.

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For the first two weeks after Tosh and Owen died Jack, Gwen and Ianto fell apart.

Jack's grief was complex and immediate, the loss of two friends rolled together with his age-old anguish over his brother and guilt over the destruction of Cardiff. The trauma of being buried alive for two thousand years only compounded his fractured mental state. His grief was manifest in his newfound inability to spend the night in the Hub, choosing instead to spend long, sleepless nights astride an empty rooftop or staring at the ceiling of Ianto's bedroom, or at Ianto himself as he slept infrequently and fitfully, tormented by nightmares old and new.

The sudden loss of Tosh and Owen had also buoyed Jack's protective instincts and he seemed reluctant to let either Gwen or Ianto out of his sight. Gwen was only allowed to leave the Hub to go home if Rhys came and picked her up, and Ianto drove twenty minutes out of his way each morning to fetch her. When Ianto disappeared to the archives or the tourist office, not that there were any tourists in Cardiff at the moment, he could feel the CCTV cameras stalking his every move. At night Jack clung to him. To make sure he was there. To make sure he was alive.

Gwen's grief was vocal and distressed and direct. She spent four days just sitting at her computer terminal crying into the coffee that Ianto brought to her every hour on the hour. On the fifth day she got herself under control enough to stop crying and leave her station to visit him in the archives but only got as far as the water tower. There she broke down again bombarded by memories when Myfanwy squawked and dropped the basketball in front of her. She was so inconsolable that she didn't even realise that Ianto had sunk to the damp, dirty floor beside her and wrapped her in a tight embrace until he started to coo in her ear in Welsh. Ianto had called Rhys without her asking and asked him to take her home.

She seemed to have a constant need to remind herself that Jack and Ianto were still alive. That Rhys was still alive. That she was still alive. When Ianto brought her coffee she would grasp his sleeve of a few seconds and rub a thumb over his silver cufflinks before moving her finger over the pulse point on his wrist. Ianto stood silently until, satisfied he was still alive, she let him go and returned to her mourning.

Ianto was a creature of habit and so dealt with his grief in the same way he had dealt with his mother's illness, the same way he had dealt with his father's death and the fall of Torchwood One, the same way he dealt with losing Lisa.

Ianto Jones persevered.

He arrived at work each morning in a fresh suit and with an empty face. He receded into himself just like he had done after Canary Wharf. He became a shadow, a pillar of silent strength, offering Gwen all the comfort she craved and letting Jack hold him so tightly that he left bruises.

Ianto's grief was only apparent at night, when his suit and expressionless veneer were stripped away and his soul laid bare, vulnerable to the encroaching darkness. Nightmares which had been receding over recent months, since he'd begun spending the night with Jack instead of slipping away into the dark, suddenly returned full force. Most nights now he was too terrified to sleep, lying awake beside Jack as the two of them stared at the ceiling in silence or lying rigid in Jack's embrace, not daring to move for fear of waking Jack from much needed but rarely realised slumber.

Ianto dreaded the darkness that brought the nightmares of his past to life in a horrifically realistic manner. Mostly now they were dreams of Canary Wharf, watching as his friends were murdered or converted unable to stop their screams or pleas. He was always too slow, too weak, too much of a coward to help them. Inevitably Lisa would be there too, her beautiful face contorted with pain and fire and metal, reaching for him, crying for him.

But in his dreams now were Tosh and Owen as well. Owen mocking him through a face half eaten away by radiation and Tosh looking at him with reproachful eyes, her voice pain-filled and disappointed, blood spilling between her lips **we were partners, you should have been there, Ianto**_**.**__ I'm sorry Tosh, I'm so sorry._

The dreams always ended the same, though. With Ianto on his knees in the bathroom vomiting violently into the toilet, grasping at the bowl to keep himself upright, trying frantically to dispel the images from his mind. Sometimes Jack was there with a solid hand on his back and a quiet reassuring voice in his ear. But sometimes he was alone on the cold tiles, back to the wall, knees pulled up to his chest. Left to sob alone until he got so hysterical that he started retching again.

But come morning Ianto was unmoveable and steady again, immaculate in a dark suit and shirt. He didn't wear bright colours anymore; he'd shredded all his coloured shirts one evening deliberately and methodically into equal strips of red, pink and cerulean blue. Jack had watched with him, silent and concerned; the next morning he threw them into the incinerator at Torchwood. In the cool morning light Ianto was collected and cool and ready to care for and provide for Torchwood operatives; whether it was a shoulder for Gwen to cry on or someone to remind Jack that he was still alive, it was what he did. Ianto Jones persevered.

It was three weeks before any of them felt close to normal. Ianto had finally stopped making five cups of coffee and was now only making three, but he still refused to throw out Tosh and Owen's mugs or let the others eat the last of Owen's 'secret supply' of Jaffa Cakes. The nightmares retreated slightly with the use of strong sleeping pills that Jack had begged him to take, and his numb sense of loss was beginning to fade. One day he even remembered an incident involving himself, Owen and a bar fight without the sharp clenching of his stomach that such memories usually produced.

Jack started to become slowly less possessive and even allowed Ianto to go to the shops to get more coffee beans on his own, restraining himself from following his lover's path on the CCTV. Gradually he found he could walk closer and closer to the morgue without falling apart, and, as long as Ianto was with him, he could venture into the lower levels that housed the archives without breaking into a cold sweat.

Gwen came alive again more and more each day. From the start of the second week she had gotten a rein on her grief and lasted almost entire days without sobbing. She could walk through the Hub and see reminders of Tosh and Owen, but she no longer wept. She didn't stop her constant checks to make sure that Ianto was still alive, though, and at odd times she would walk up behind him as he sat working to place a hand on his chest to ensure his heart was still beating. Ianto let her and if this new familiarity made him uncomfortable he gave no sign, carrying on with his work until she was satisfied and returned to her station.

On the Thursday of the third week the decimated Torchwood Three sat in the conference room eating Chinese with little enthusiasm and found that they could have a semi-normal conversation for the first time in nearly a month. They ate in silence until Jack suddenly turned to Ianto with a sly grin and said, "Would you like to taste my balls Ianto?" Ianto choked on his vegetable stir-fry and gave Jack and the proffered sweet and sour chicken ball a disparaging look. "That's harassment sir," he answered automatically, and they all laughed. A tense, guilty silence fell as the laughter died, but Gwen was smiling and her smile widened when Jack returned it and gave her a wink. Gwen realised that things might just be okay again.

Two weeks later Torchwood Three was back up and running: whilst not exactly at full capacity they were still managing to contain the few weevils that ventured above the surface. Thankfully, the Rift had been quiet since the incident with Gray, and they had not yet been fully tested. Jack and Ianto handled most of the fieldwork with Gwen co-ordinating from the Hub unless the mission required three people. It was difficult and all three of them were exhausted and spread thin, but none of them wanted to broach the possibility of hiring replacements for Tosh and Owen.

Jack was doing his best to ignore the black circles that had taken permanent residence under Ianto's weary blue eyes and the way that Gwen arrived a little later each morning yawning widely and studying her computer screen. He could even, when he tried really hard, ignore the way Ianto's hand shook when he handed Jack his morning coffee. Harder to ignore though were the phone calls from Rhys berating him for running Gwen into the ground. But each time he even considered replacing Tosh and Owen, he found it easier to ignore the fact that his team was slowly disintegrating.

Just days from the two-month mark, something happened that broke Jack from his self-imposed cycle of ignorance. On a weevil hunt Gwen was hurt. It wasn't serious. It wasn't life-threatening. To be frank, it was little more than a scratch; it didn't even need stitches, but it had bled. It had oozed deep red blood between Gwen's clasping fingers and onto her grey T-shirt.

Gwen had frozen, staring as her blood ran down her hand and mingled with the rain that had been plaguing the city for the last week, her mouth open and her eyes wide with fear and shock. Ianto had panicked. His sweet, loyal, steady Ianto who had been _strong_ through this entire ordeal, too strong really. Ianto had panicked and lost himself in the pouring rain, running off in the direction of the Bay before Jack could stop him. And Jack, Jack had let his team come to this, allowed them to get hurt after he'd promised himself that he'd protect them at all costs.

That night when Gwen was safely tucked up in bed with Rhys, Jack sat in his office nursing a glass of whisky. He looked up at a faint sound and saw a cold, pale, sodden and generally dishevelled-looking Ianto Jones eyeing him warily. Ianto's hair was sticking up in odd directions and his lips were almost blue against the stark white of his colourless face. God, he looked so _young_. Jack downed his whiskey and grimaced as it burned down his throat. "We need to start interviewing." Ianto nodded once and walked over to take the glass from Jack before wrapping him in a desperate hug. Jack gripped just as tightly ignoring the frozen wetness that seeped from Ianto's ruined suit into his own shirt, making it stick to him and raising goose bumps all down his chest. The next morning Jack had thirty files sitting on his desk awaiting approval.

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Jack drove Ianto to the offices in Caposey Gardens that they had 'appropriated' to use for their interviews. They had been up late the night before finalising the interview procedure because they kept getting distracted and the 'distractions' always managed to mess up Ianto's carefully arranged files, so they would have to start from the beginning.

Ianto was silent on the drive over, sitting in the passenger's seat reading through his notes on the candidates for what had to be the twentieth time since breakfast. But his silence didn't worry Jack-- it wasn't like the deadened, lifeless silence that Ianto had affected immediately after Tosh and Owen had died, that had made Jack grab hold of him and shake him until he made a sound on more than one occasion. Jack had grown comfortable with Ianto's silences once more.

Once at the building Jack pulled over a few doors down and turned to face Ianto, trying to pick out a few encouraging words that would help reassure the younger man, but all he could think of was: "You look really hot in that suit." Ianto gave him a smile that was equal parts fond and exasperated as he slid out of the passenger seat. Jack watched him walk down the pavement and pause momentarily to collect himself and straighten his already straight tie, then walk briskly through the glass doors of the office block.

Pulling away from the kerb, Jack tapped his ear piece and grinned as Gwen's voice answered him from the Hub. "The eagle has landed, I repeat, the eagle has landed." He could hear Gwen roll her eyes as she told him to shut up and pick up some coffee and croissants on the way back, she'd missed breakfast.

Gwen and Jack managed to spend an hour in the Hub playing basketball with Myfanwy and talking about inconsequential everyday things like laundry and washing-up. About Rhys leaving toast crumbs in the bed and Ianto actually using a handheld vacuum cleaner to divest Jack of any crumbs before he was allowed back into bed. They spoke about rugby and the weather, the recent influx of tourists to the Roald Dahl Plass and the likelihood of any of them finding the perception filter. They spoke about movies that they might like to see and music that they had recently heard, but they did not ever speak about aliens or monsters, death or loss, the way Tosh used to light up when Jack suggested they all go to a Japanese art exhibit, the way Owen would pretend to be irritable and indifferent when Ianto left him two paracetamol with his Jaffa Cakes and industrial strength coffee when he was hung over but secretly smiled when he thought no one was looking.

They were interrupted by the wail of the rift alarm and when Jack checked it he cursed to himself-bloody perfect, they were understaffed and under-strength and this had to come through the rift now.

"Gwen, get Ianto on his mobile; tell him it's a Sarcorian, then meet me in the SUV. I'm going to the armoury; we're going to need a hell of a gun for this." Gwen nodded grim faced and pulled out her mobile, finding Ianto on speed dial and locking down the location of the rift spike simultaneously.

Jack left her to go search the armoury, muttering darkly to himself. Sarcorians were notoriously aggressive, generally around seven feet tall, and they had a tough armour-like skin that was almost impossible to breach. They were going to need one hell of a weapon to stop it.

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

Ianto jumped into the SUV before it had come fully to a halt, and Jack didn't hesitate in pulling away from the kerb before the door had even closed behind him. He landed heavily, jerking back into the seat as he dropped the metal case and briefcase onto the floor. "How did it go?" Gwen asked, twisting in her seat and watching Ianto as he attempted to fasten his seatbelt with Jack veering around corners with reckless abandon.

"Not bad--had a few promising candidates, nothing definite yet. Where was the rift spike located?"

Gwen glanced down at the PDA in her hand before handing it back to him with a grimace "Just off Lloyd-George Avenue." Ianto nodded distractedly, pulling out his mobile phone and placing a few quick calls to order taxis and reserve hotel rooms for the abandoned applicants -it was ridiculously short notice, but Ianto Jones was in the business of everyday miracles and he had soon woven his magic over the manager.

As he hung up, Gwen turned around to him again "What do you know about the Sarcor-whatsits? You-know-who has just been muttering darkly to himself and hasn't explained anything."

"What else is new?" Ianto replied with a smile as he studied the PDA and ran a quick analysis of the rift spike. "As far as I remember, Gwen, they're big and fast and strong. As far as the archives can reveal they are primarily predators and have little to no intelligent thought. The only thing we know of that will stop them is a Reflex Beam and the gun we have only has enough charge for one shot. So we have one chance to stop this thing; if we mess up we have to wait 24 hours for the gun to recharge its batteries." He looked up and gave her a grin that was more of a grimace.

Ianto turned to give the back of Jack's head his full attention. "What's the plan, Jack?" If the set of his shoulders, the stiff line of his neck and the way he seemed to be trying to strangle the steering wheel were anything to go by, Ianto could reasonably assume that Jack was nervous. And rightly so: what Ianto had failed to tell Gwen was that according to the entire collective records that Torchwood held, only three operatives had ever survived an encounter with a Sarcorian, and those operatives had been pretty brutally maimed.

"Jack?" Ianto watched as Jack visibly pulled himself out of whatever introspection he had been indulging in. His posture relaxed noticeably, grip on the wheel loosening as he let out a deep breath. "Right, we'll have to approach this with caution; I don't want anyone getting hurt. I'll take point with the Reflex Gun; Ianto, you have my back." Ianto gave a brisk nod and Gwen frowned and opened her mouth to complain to Jack, but he cut her off. "Gwen, you hang back and monitor the readings-Sarcorians tend to give off high levels of aesphoric acid just before they go for the kill."

"Jack, I can come with you I want to-"

"No, Gwen, we need someone to monitor the acid levels, and there's no point in putting any more of us in danger than is absolutely necessary. We can't afford it."

Gwen glanced back at Ianto looking like she was about to argue her point but Ianto shook his head minutely and nodded to Jack, who was once again staring sullenly out the windscreen and swinging the car around corners in a way that made the tyres squeal and Ianto wince at the thought of what this could be doing to suspension.

Jack pulled the SUV to a stop so abruptly that Ianto and Gwen jerked against their seatbelts. He was out his door and at the boot before Ianto had managed to struggle out of his seatbelt and open the door. Gwen got out too and leant against the bonnet, still pouting slightly over being left at the SUV. Jack pulled the large cannon-esque gun from its box and hefted it onto his shoulder; he turned to face Ianto giving him a grim smile before heading off the direction of the energy spike.

Ianto gave Gwen a small smile and a thumbs up before pulling his gun from his waistband and running after Jack down the road.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Fifteen minutes later with no sign of activity, no noises, no alerts from her PDA, not even a passer-by to break the monotony, she had already tried the comms but Jack had quite forcibly told her that "Now is not the time for a chat!" So curiosity got the better of Gwen, and she decided to follow after Jack and Ianto, just to make sure they were alright. The way they were constantly insisting on leaving her behind was really starting to grate on her nerves. She knew that they were both on edge but their misplaced sense of chivalry was irritating her no end.

Taking out her gun and pocketing the PDA, she started off down the alleyway after them, staying as close to the walls and as out of sight as she could. The ground was damp and water soaked through the thin material of her Converse, making them squeak slightly as she walked. As she moved closer towards the location of the rift spike she started to become nervous: there was no sign of either Jack or Ianto. She touched her earpiece to activate her comms. "Jack? Ianto?"

"Gwen!" Ianto hissed in alarm from behind the large wheelie bin to her right. She turned to him and smiled but froze at the look of terror that flashed across his face. She could hear breathing behind her, deep and throaty; it echoed around her as she stood unmoving, eyes locked with Ianto. Suddenly Ianto lunged, shooting upwards and shoving her brutally aside at the same time as she felt a rush of air as the creature behind her swung a massive arm and caught Ianto in the chest.

From her position, winded and lying on her back Gwen watched as life unfolded in slow motion. Ianto took the alien's blow high on his chest and flew through the air, brushed aside as if he was no more significant than an annoying insect. He hit the wall with a wet thump, slamming against it with force and bouncing out slightly to land unmoving on the damp tarmac.

Gwen panted in terror as all seven foot of the alien bore down on her. She scrambled backwards frantically trying to find purchase on the slick road with her trainers. Her back hit the wall and the PDA in her pocket vibrated and beeped madly reporting a massive rise in aesphoric acid. Gwen whimpered and looked desperately from her gun, which was lying where she had dropped it when Ianto had shoved her, to Ianto who was still sprawled on the ground-was he dead? Were they all going to die now? The last mortal remnants of Torchwood Three? The entire team wiped out within a few short months. It had a certain symmetry to it. Then Jack could start again with a new team. _Where the hell_ _was Jack?_

The alien was sniffing her now, apparently enjoying the thrill of her crazily beating heart and panicked breaths, the smell of sweat and fear and desperation and death. Its deep red eyes bored into her, savouring her distress. Gwen visibly shuddered when two pointed tongues emerged from its mouth and tasted the air in a quick darting movement before receding into its mouth. The creature gave a sound that could be interpreted as a pleasurable moan, and Gwen closed her eyes. _Oh my God, Rhys, I'm going to die. If I get myself killed Rhys will murder me._ Gwen tensed her body and awaited the inevitable blow. _I wonder if Tosh and Owen will be there?_

But instead of the sharp pain of claws ripping into her side she felt a cold wetness fall over her body. She tentatively opened one eye. The creature was gone. Jack stood in front of her still aiming the Reflex Beam gun at her, his face clouded and fierce. There was a static sound hanging in the air and the air held a metallic tang to it. Gwen looked from Jack down to her chest, which was now covered in alien blood, which was a delightful shade of pink.

"I thought I told you to stay at the SUV?"

"Well, I--"

"Gwen, we can not afford this kind of insubordination anymore. If you don't follow orders, then you put us all in danger." Gwen looked at Jack and his face was dangerous in a way that she had seen few times before. He took a breath and his expression cleared slightly. "Where's Ianto?"

Gwen stood abruptly and ran over to where Ianto was lying on the ground. Jack followed her and cursed loudly in a language that Gwen hadn't heard before dropping to his knees beside the younger man and gently rolling him over, muttering, "Don't be dead, don't be dead, don't be dead" over and over to himself. Gwen mentally took up the mantra and sobbed with relief when she found a strong pulse at Ianto's throat.

Jack pulled Ianto halfway onto his lap and wiped a bit of blood away from his face using the sleeve of his greatcoat. Gwen grabbed onto Ianto's slack hand and gripped it fiercely, keeping her fingers over the delicate throbbing in his wrist and staring intently at his face. Jack had bent low and was whispering into Ianto's ear, urging him to wake up whilst tapping his cheek a little too urgently for it to be gentle.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ianto came back to consciousness slowly and painfully. He was aware of little other than a disembodied voice in his ear and someone tapping his cheek in an area that was starting to bruise. Speaking of bruises, he was pretty sure he could feel more emerging down his back and side. He tried to shift to relieve the pressure but found his arm was restrained. He started to panic, struggling against the darkness and the restraints and the voice that sounded strangely familiar all of a sudden. "Ianto, it's Jack. Calm down!"

Ianto ceased his struggles and relaxed back. He blinked rapidly so as to clear the mist from his vision. Slowly Jack's face appeared above him, at first bleary and out of focus but eventually becoming sharper. "Hi," Jack said softly.

"Hi," Ianto replied shakily.

Jack smiled at him and Ianto winced. "Could you put those teeth away please, Captain? I have a headache and the glare doesn't help." Jack laughed but obligingly closed his mouth

"Where's Gwen?" Ianto asked as his memory hit him in a rush, "Is she all right?"

"I'm fine, Ianto," came a tearful voice to his right Ianto shifted his head to see Gwen sitting cross-legged in a puddle beside him, an iron grip on his hand. Ianto wondered at the strange angles of Jack and Gwen's positions in comparison to where he lay. He belated realised with a rush of embarrassment that he was lying in Jack's lap. He tried to move; Jack placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and helped him to sit up, steadying him when he swayed slightly over the change in perspective.

Gwen picked up the Reflex Beam gun and Jack helped Ianto to his feet, one of his arms tight around Ianto's waist and the other holding onto the arm Ianto had slung over his shoulders. "What about the alien?"

"Don't worry, Ianto, it's dead."

"Well, yes, Jack, I rather gathered that. What about the body?"

"Don't worry about it. It's so exploded that it's practically a mist of blood, it's not toxic and the police won't bother about it if we tell them to ignore it."

"You are so lazy, can't even be bothered to clean up a bit of blood."

"Ianto Jones, we're too lazy to pick up pizza boxes. What makes you think that we would ever want to clean up blood?"

Ianto gave a sharp gasping laugh, and Jack frowned at the sound. "Hospital?"

Ianto shook his head and then grimaced. "No, nothing's broken, not even a concussion-- anyway don't have time, have to sort out the interviews for tomorrow." They had reached the SUV and Jack turned incredulously to Ianto as he opened the passenger door for him.

"Interviews? In that shape? You'll scare off the applicants!"

Ianto smirked but didn't have the energy to reply, so Jack helped him into his seat and fastened his seatbelt for him, ignoring his protests.

Ianto categorically refused all offers to go to the hospital finally losing his temper and snapping at Gwen that "If I don't know what a concussion feels like by now I never will!" However, he did insist that they stop by the hotel that he had booked for the applicants to deliver handwritten messages that he had hastily written on the drive over. Gwen ran in to deliver them, and by the time she got back into the car Ianto was asleep against the window with his mouth open.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The next time Ianto woke up he was lying in his own bed with Jack perched beside him sitting back against the headboard, reading a book and humming softly to himself. He seemed to notice Ianto's sleepy gaze because he glanced down and smiled at him. "Go to sleep." Ianto was about to argue that they weren't at work and Jack couldn't boss him around in his own house, but before he'd formulated the sentence he was asleep again.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The next time Ianto woke it was to the sound of his alarm and he was alone. He was able to sit up gradually and somehow managed to lever himself off his bed and shuffle towards the bathroom. The shower eased his aching muscles somewhat but did nothing to relieve the deep purple bruises that marred his right side and back.

As he went to the mirror to shave, Ianto couldn't help but grimace at his appearance. He looked like he'd been in some sort of a pub brawl, and he hadn't been in one of those since that time with Owen when Jack was gone. Well, he wouldn't be getting into any more bar fights with Owen. Ianto raised a delicate finger to prod at the gash that was running into his hairline; luckily it hadn't needed stitches, Ianto had seen enough stitches in his career at Torchwood to do him a lifetime.

Once Ianto had put his suit on he felt better, more firm and resolute. More stable. He went to make some coffee and idly wondered where Jack was. It wasn't unusual for Jack to leave during the night; it was more the rule than the exception. Ianto didn't mind: Jack rarely slept, and Ianto couldn't really expect him to lie silently in bed all night. Ianto thought it was amusing that he competed for Jack's nocturnal attention with a rooftop. Then again, watching Cardiff sleep had to be infinitely more interesting than watching Ianto Jones sleep.

The coffee stung Ianto's split lip when he sipped it, but a couple of industrial strength painkillers that Owen had given him after the incident with the space whale took the edge off the worst of the pain. Ianto left his apartment, locking the door and not bothering to leave a key for Jack. He had a spare anyway. If he had forgotten it and wanted to get in Jack had plenty of ways of breaking and entering without destroying the lock or the door. He drove himself directly to the office block as with rush hour traffic he wouldn't have made it to the Hub and back in time.

As he was walking towards Caposey Gardens, Ianto could have sworn that he spotted a tall man in an RAF greatcoat watching him from the roof of a nearby building. He inconspicuously flipped Jack the finger, hoping he'd see it from that distance, he probably would, fifty-first-century genes and all that. With one last grin, Ianto collected himself, slipped on his professional mask and went in to finish the interviews.

* * *

Thanks for reading, Please review. :D


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own Torchwood.

Warning: Spoilers for Exit wounds.

A/N Massive thanks to Aelfgyfu for betaing.

* * *

Robert spent the two weeks after his interview with Mr Jones berating himself for losing out on the opportunity of a lifetime. He went back to work at UNIT the morning after his return to London. And he was bored. God, he was _bored_. Usually Robert could listen to Jacinta blether on about the investment banker she was sort-of seeing, except that he still lived with his wife and three kids, with casual disinterest, but the last few weeks he found himself snapping at her.

He could no longer tolerate the incessant pencil-chewing that Keith immersed himself in day-to-day, or the way that Gordon whistled the Star Wars theme as he filed documents. He found himself growing impatient at everyone and everything. The windows annoyed him for being too clean; the floor annoyed him for squeaking when he walked; the water cooler had driven him into a vengeful rage when it had squirted water all over the crotch of his beige trousers. All in all, Robert Carmichael was on the precipice of madness over monotony. He was just considering what Mary-Anne's head would look like with a brick-shaped dent in it when a hand landed unceremoniously on his shoulder, and he jumped slightly.

Spinning his chair, Robert looked up to see Nigel from Human Resources grinning down at him with a sort of self-satisfied superiority, proud to have made him jump. _Sad bastard_.

Robert knew that this contempt he was slowly building for his colleagues was unhealthy, but he could do nothing to quell its rise. For years he had known that he was smarter than these people, he was more than smart; he was brilliant, and yet every day he came to this office and tolerated their idiocy. But since Torchwood, he couldn't do it anymore—fool himself that this was all he was capable of. Torchwood had obviously seen something in him, and he was going to fulfil that potential even if he had to go back to Cardiff, find Mr Jones and beg him for a job.

Robert drew out of his train of thought to see Nigel still standing over him. Robert couldn't even summon a genial smile; instead, he maintained his scowl and said, "Can I help you with something, Nigel?" Nigel seemed deflated, as if Robert had taken the good out of this for him, and handed Robert a letter without a word. Still looking put-upon, he gave Robert a glare before stalking back to the elevator which would automatically take him to the fourth floor.

Robert looked down at the hand-delivered letter with a small smile, and his heart leapt when he saw a familiar elegant hand had addressed the envelope in rich black ink. _Jones._ Robert's hand shook slightly as he turned the letter over, weighing it in his hand. It was thicker than the others, heavier. He licked his suddenly dry lips, and wondered if Jacinta or Mary-Anne, gossiping over the latest scandal from upstairs, could hear the frantic thud of his heart against his ribs. Taking a breath to calm the hoarde of homicidal butterflies in his stomach, Robert ripped the envelope open cleanly. He let the letter unfurl and stared so intently at it that, at first, he could make out no more that black smudges on a white background. When he had calmed enough to focus his eyes he realised that the letter was handwritten, not typed.

_Dear Mr Carmichael:_

_On behalf of the Torchwood Institute, I would like to offer my congratulations on passing successfully through the first stage of our interview process. Only the best were deemed fit to continue, and you should be proud to have progressed this far._

_The second interview stage, which shall be held with Captain Jack Harkness, head of Torchwood Three, and myself, shall take place on the 10th__of August. The interview shall be informal and will take place in The Dragon's Arms at 12pm. Directions and a map are included. We shall make the necessary arrangements with your current employers._

_Once again, if for any reason you do not wish to pursue this offer, you may forget about it completely._

_Yours,_

_Ianto Jones, administrator, Torchwood Three. _

_Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx_

It was 12.25pm and there was no sign of either Mr Jones or Captain Harkness in The Dragon's Arms. In Robert's opinion, it was a strange place to hold a job interview. It had the décor of a country pub from the 1940's and its clientele were varied.

There was an old man by the open, unlit, fireplace who was currently breaking the smoking ban by puffing on a pipe. There was a group of students sitting in a booth at the back who had tipped their coins onto the table and were arranging them in neat piles, trying to determine how many pints of cheap lager they could afford. There were even a couple of businessmen, out of the office for an early lunch, dressed in expensive suits and making Robert wonder once again what had caused the impeccable Ianto Jones to be, presently, 32 minutes late.

When the clock above the bar read 12.45, Robert was ready to go and was about to gather his laptop case and leave when a sudden commotion at the door drew his attention. The door swung in with vigour due to the near-gale force winds that were sweeping across the city, and two patrons stumbled in amidst a flurry of cold wind and rain. Robert still couldn't believe that this was what passed as the summer in Britain these days.

The two men who had entered straightened themselves and Robert noticed immediately that one of them was Ianto Jones. Robert cursed at the sight of him. He had taken Mr Jones' advisement that this was to be an informal interview to heart and was wearing a pair of plain blue jeans and a dark green jumper. But it seemed that Jones had ignored his own advice as he was, once again, ensconced in a flawless black suit.

The other man, who Robert assumed was Captain Harkness, was dressed no more informally than his colleague. In fact, from what Robert could see, he seemed to be wearing a military coat from the Second World War and a pair of heavy, army-issue boots. Robert felt very underdressed.

Neither man had noticed him yet. They stood at the door trying to collect themselves following the assault of the wind and rain. Jones had stumbled slightly and Harkness laid a hand on his arm to steady him; that earned him a level glare which he gleefully met with a charming grin. Jones ignored his boss and moved behind him to slip the military coat from his shoulders. Harkness looked around as Jones folded the coat over his arm, and when his eyes fell upon Robert his face lit in another charismatic grin.

Harkness murmured to Jones then went to meet Robert at his table; Robert stood to greet him. "Captain Jack Harkness," he said in an American drawl that somewhat surprised Robert. Torchwood were a specifically British organisation, he'd expected someone more, well, _British_. "Pleasure to meet you, Robert—I can call you Robert, can't I?" Harkness' teeth must have hypnotising properties because Robert found himself nodding and smiling back.

"Great. Ianto's told me all about you." Harkness gestured to where Mr Jones was now making his way towards them, having disposed of the military coat and his own black overcoat somewhere. In his hands was balanced a tray with three glasses on it.

"It's nice to meet you, Captain Harkness. Mr Jones, pleasure to see you again." Robert extended his hand to Jones once he had placed the tray down and was rewarded with a brief handshake and amiable smile.

"I'm sure the pleasure is all his." The Captain said mischievously.

Robert did a double take but Harkness was just smiling at Jones, and Jones was paying neither of them any attention as he placed the glasses in front of their respective owners. _Must be imagining things_.

Jones gestured for Robert to take his seat and which Robert did eying the glass in front of him speculatively. Jones spared him a brief smile. "It's Magners. Not poisoned—well, no more than the pesticides they use to treat the apples."

Robert's eyebrows rose slightly, unnerved by Jones' apparent ability to read his thoughts. Jones himself seemed unperturbed and took a drink of what looked to be a pint of Guinness. Harkness seemed to be drinking water, unless it was a pint of vodka—but that was unlikely: Robert had tried it once at University and ended up in hospital getting his stomach pumped. He'd drank nothing but cider ever since_ that_ incident.

"Sorry we're late, Rob—I can call you Rob can't I?"

"I'd prefer you didn't, Captain."

"What about Robbie?"

"Just Robert, sir."

"Not Bob? Bobby? Bert? Bertie? Can I call you Bertie?"

"I'd prefer if you would just call me Robert, if it's all the same to you, Captain Harkness." Harkness looked like he was about to speak again but, Jones silenced him with a slightly reproachful look. Robert marvelled at that and took a minute to take the two men in. They made an odd pair. Jones was sitting poised and erect in his chair, clothes expensive and pristine, if a bit rain-splattered. Harkness, however, was leaning back in his chair, lounging, his arms crossed nonchalantly across his chest, clothes looking well-worn and comfortable, despite Robert's initial impression of formality.

"As Captain Harkness was saying, Mr Carmichael, I must extend our apologies; we were unexpectedly detained." Jones gave him a polite smile before picking up his drink and standing, "If you will excuse me for a moment, gentlemen; I have a small business matter to attend to." With that Jones rose and went to sit at a table further away from the door which was occupied by a middle-aged man in a sit almost as sharp as Jones'.

Left alone with Captain Harkness, Robert took a gulp of his cider and promptly choked on it when he registered the lecherous grin that the Captain was directing his way.

"So, Robert, you want to work for Torchwood?" Harkness leaned in across the table, wiping the condensation on his glass with slow, measured strokes.

"Yes, sir."

"Why?" The Captain's voice was deep and husky, coming so quietly that Robert had to lean in to hear.

"Torchwood are the best, sir; I want to be the best. I can be the best."

Harkness' smile was slow and seductive, as was the raised eyebrow that rose up on the right side. "I bet you do." They were so close that Robert could feel the other man's warm breath across his cheek; it was making him uncomfortable. Harkness took a quick look over Robert's shoulder, and Robert followed his gaze; Jones was seemingly deep in conversation with the businessman and didn't look up.

Robert looked back to Harkness and flinched when he found the other man's face millimetres from his own. Harkness' toothy smile didn't flicker, and his electric blue eyes were fixed on Roberts lips; Robert licked them nervously. The Captain's eyes moved up to Robert's own, and he murmured, "Want to get out of here?" His eyes flickered towards the side-door.

Robert swallowed and tried to ignore Harkness' scrutiny. If he didn't know better, he'd think that Captain Jack Harkness had just propositioned him to having sex in an alleyway. But this was a job interview. Even if Robert was interested, which he wasn't, this was a job interview. Unless _that_ was the job interview. Torchwood Cardiff were known to be somewhat eclectic in their sexual liaisons; could this be the interview?

_Oh, and that's my prospective boss' foot running up my thigh. Yeah, this is the interview._

Robert cleared his throat and leaned in close to Harkness, who took the hint well and tilted in. Robert placed his mouth right next to the Captain's ear and spoke softly, "Captain, if you don't remove that foot in the next three seconds, I'm going to take this glass and smash it into your smug, pompous face."

To Robert's surprise, Harkness laughed heartily and pulled back, smiling widely. He gave Robert a look that was equal parts amusement and respect. "Excellent answer, Robert Carmichael; excellent bottom too, but that's for another day."

Robert just sat gobsmacked and blushing. Harkness looked up just as Mr Jones came over and took his seat again. "Everything sorted out?"

"Yes, sir, just a small misunderstanding. How are you getting on here?"

"You haven't missed anything good, don't worry, Ianto."

"Someone has to, sir."

Harkness smiled fondly at Jones before turning to Robert, and this time his gaze was serious and professional, all flirtation gone from his demeanour. "So, Robert, you'd be willing to move to Cardiff?"

"Yes."

"Any family to move with you? Wife? Girlfriend? Boyfriend?"

Robert shook his head and fought the urge to laugh bitterly, "No, there's no one. I recently broke up with my girlfriend, well, fiancée, really."

Harkness' gaze was compassionate but no less calculating, "Why was that? You're not secretly an axe murderer, are you?" He gave a slightly nervous laugh; exchanging an apprehensive glance with Jones, whose expression flickered with what may have been worry, which made Robert think that there might be a story behind it.

"No, I believe the official reason was because I was a 'sour, pessimistic bastard with no ambition or goals, stuck in a dead-end job with no future prospects and no chance of promotion.'" Robert toasted the two men who seemed a bit taken aback by his candour and finished his drink in one go.

The Captain looked at him seriously, "Robert, if this is a rebound decision after breaking up with her then don't do it. Torchwood is dangerous and life-threatening and_ always_ fatal. Torchwood will be your life and your death. If you have any doubt at all, walk out of this pub right now and forget all about us."

Robert took a moment before replying, "I know this job is dangerous; you have the highest staff turn-over rate of any defence organisation in Europe. I want this. Defending the earth; it's better than a desk job." He shrugged, "Besides, if sex with you didn't scare me off, Harkness, I doubt death will."

Jones laughed at that, and Harkness gave him a mildly affronted look.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The next morning Robert was back in London, back in UNIT and back on the third floor. But this morning, not even Mary-Anne's hysterics over Janet on the sixth floor claiming that Brad Pitt was an alien and Angelina only an advanced alien incubator could irritate him.

Robert was happy—happier than he'd been in a long time. Harkness and Jones had seemed pleased with his interview; even if he was unsure of what to make of the Captain's less-than-subtle come-on. Harkness had told him they'd be in touch by the end of the week, and the possibility of leaving this dump was so tangible that he could almost taste it.

But by lunchtime his mood was foul. Jacinta had spilled not one but two cups of tea down his new blue shirt. Keith had stolen his mouse mat then denied having anything to do with it. And then to top off the day a piece of alien tech had exploded on the twelfth floor, it hadn't hurt anyone but it had set the sprinklers off, so they all had to evacuate into the wind and horizontal rain, for three hours. And the time had dragged abominably; they weren't allowed to leave the car-park, so Jacinta had tried to get them to have a sing-song. After the tenth rendition of Rhianna's 'Umbrella', Robert was ready to stab someone with his umbrella.

So Robert had missed his lunch, was cold, wet and was possibly developing what could be a chest infection, pneumonia or the Black Death. Sloshing back to his desk in his drenched, squeaking shoes Robert was both delighted and surprised to find a recognisable white envelope sitting on his desk.

Ripping it open he found that the resulting letter consisted of only one line and was written in an unfamiliar scrawl.

_Water Tower, Roald Dahl Plass, August 15, 8am_

His good mood restored, Robert grinned and did a few joyful spins in his chair, prompting the others to give him strange looks and Mary-Anne to start speculating loudly on whether or not he had a lover sending him love letters.

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Thanks for reading, please review.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own Torchwood.

Warning: Spoilers for Exit wounds.

A/N Massive thanks to Aelfgyfu for betaing.

* * *

Jack Harkness was wandering around the Hub alone and completely bored. Gwen had gone home hours ago, Rhys had picked her up outside the tourist office, and Ianto had been gone since yesterday morning. Jack had woken to an empty bed with a Post-It on Ianto's pillow reading;

_Gone to London, meeting with PM, back tomorrow/Thursday; in time for the interview; don't touch the coffee machine, or the archives, Ianto_.

Ianto was gone to have a meeting with Prime Minister Dull, which was a rather unfortunate name, about his continued habit of including Torchwood reports in his briefings to the cabinet. But things were looking good on the interviewing front, they had almost completed the entire second round of interviews. The final one would be taking place in The Dragon's Arms at 12pm tomorrow.

The last two days had been busy enough; Ianto had left him a pile of paperwork to work though and the rift had been fluctuating, which meant a slight peak in Weevil sightings. But now the Weevils were all safely locked in the cells, the paperwork was all sitting neatly in files awaiting Ianto's return, and Jack was pacing the Hub.

He had nothing to do—absolutely nothing. The Weevils were all fed and were sleeping, but they could have been pretending to annoy him. Myfanwy was in her nest and refusing to come out, because Jack had forgotten to give her the chocolate that Ianto had left for her. There wasn't even any rift activity to keep him occupied. So, Jack decided to do what every immortal ex-time agent who was bored out of his mind, sexually frustrated and missing his hot archivist did.

Jack went Weevil hunting.

The term 'Weevil hunting' had become something of a double entendre in Torchwood. Once upon a time, Weevil hunting had meant running after vicious, barbaric aliens with a side dish of getting mauled, but since Ianto had joined, Weevil hunting had become an entirely different experience for Jack: mostly running around after vicious, barbaric Weevils with a side dish of sex.

When he and Ianto had started sleeping together Jack had used it as a euphemism for sex, a throwback to their very first meeting. The first few times Ianto had glared at him, certain that the others would catch on—but they hadn't, because even though they worked for a top-secret organisation, they were ridiculously oblivious of what was going on under their noses.

Jack had found that when he and Ianto _did _go Weevil hunting it generally ended in sex anyway. That had inevitably resulted in Weevil hunting becoming his new favourite pastime and leaving him feeling disturbingly aroused, which was why Owen had thought he was a pervert with a Weevil fetish.

Weevil hunting without Ianto felt like an anti-climax these days.

There was all that running around, adrenaline pumping, getting all sweaty and flushed, but no Ianto to seal the deal. It wasn't just the sex after the hunt that Jack enjoyed; it was the chase.

Running side by side with Ianto; keeping pace effortlessly; finding faultless footing on the uneven terrain; eating up the distance with long, powerful strides. They moved almost symbiotically now, communicating with looks and gestures. It made Jack feel close to Ianto, feel that he knew him intimately: what he was thinking; what he was feeling. That almost made Jack laugh aloud; no one really _knew_ Ianto Jones.

Jack knew many of the faces that Ianto presented to the world: the dutiful employee, the meticulous archivist, the loyal manservant, the sexy fieldwork agent, even the attentive lover—Jack especially liked that Ianto—but no one knew the real Ianto, who hid behind suits and sex and coffee.

When Jack was running through the trees, with moonlight streaming through the foliage, Ianto running alongside grinning to himself and with the smell of sweat and blood and the sound of harsh, panting breaths in the air, Jack felt like he _really knew_ Ianto. It was a lie –but it was a beautiful lie.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jack walked through Bute Park, ignoring the pang of loneliness he felt each time he looked over to say something to Ianto and found he wasn't here. There had been some vague reports regarding a wild animal in the area; those usually turned out to be nothing more than a particularly aggressive badger, but every so often the reports actually turned out to be a Weevil, so Jack had decided to do some investigating.

He stalked through the trees, hoping that he didn't come across anyone out walking their dogs; the military coat tended to give them the wrong idea, and he hadn't brought any Retcon with him. Although, it was unlikely that anyone would be out on a night like this. There was the tail end of a hurricane blowing in from across the Atlantic; this meant that the wind was howling through the trees, bending them almost double. The rain was virtually horizontal. It hit him full in the face, stinging his skin, obscuring his vision and making his hair stick flat against his head. His coat was sodden and heavy, pulling his shoulders down and forcing him to hunch; it smelt like wet dog. _Stay away from the mud, Jack;_ if he got mud on the coat Ianto was going to _kill him_.

Jack was starting to consider going back to the Hub; his teeth were chattering and he was shivering violently as water slipped down his spine in icy streams. Boredom couldn't be any worse than hypothermia; a warm, boring Hub was infinitely better than an exciting, freezing park.

Jack froze when he heard rustling in the bushes to his right. _Please be a Weevil, please be a Weevil, please be a Weevil_. He really didn't want to burst in on another copulating couple. Some people didn't react very well to an offer for a third.

Pulling out a can of Weevil spray from his pocket, Jack edged forward gingerly. The rustling increased, and just as Jack reached the shrubbery a Weevil shot out of the undergrowth and hit him square in the chest. Jack cursed as the Weevil spray flew from his grasp; he hit the gravel path hard. The breath rushed from his lungs as the Weevil's weight crushed down on top of him and the small pieces of stone stuck into the back of his neck, slowly embedding into his skin.

Jack flung his arm up to stop the Weevil from ripping out his throat and it snapped down onto his hand instead, biting down hard. Jack yelled as he felt the sharp teeth sliding slowly into his hand, slicing through muscle and shattering bones. Jack swung his right fist, and tried to dislodge the Weevil but he managed to do nothing but cause the Weevil to tighten its grip and growl menacingly. Jack braced for the inevitable feeling of claws ripping at his sides and the darkness that always followed.

But it didn't come. The Weevil released him with a muffled whine and Jack was left staring at the sky: the rain had eased off, leaving only a light drizzle and the clouds had begun to part revealing the night sky, deep inky black, like velvet; and stars, hundreds of worlds, some he had seen, and others he had yet to set eyes on, twinkling brightly. The drizzle was falling, slower now, into his eyes, scattering the glow of the stars like a prism, and he could feel the cold gravel digging into his back. But he ignored that; the allure of the stars, of the undiscovered wonders waiting for him to experience them—it pulled at him. The chance to travel, adventure, learn, voyage, all that wonder... The desire was so great he could almost taste it.

But then Ianto Jones' handsome, concerned face entered into his vision. Obscuring the stars; blocking out the longing. Grounding him. Jack closed his eyes and smiled.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ianto was driving past Cardiff Castle when he spotted the SUV and jammed on his brakes, causing the car to come to such an abrupt stop that, had it not been 4am and pouring rain, would have cased a massive pile-up.

Tapping his earpiece and receiving no answer from Gwen or Jack, Ianto pulled out his phone and hit speed dial. Jack's phone went straight to voicemail. Ianto tried Gwen's phone and winced guiltily when she answered drowsily on the fourth ring.

"'Lo."

"Gwen?"

Gwen's voice became more alert. "Ianto? What's wrong? Rift activity?"

"No, nothing—emm, I was just wondering if you and Jack were out on a call?"

"Nope, I'm in bed."

"Yeah, sorry, Gwen; look, I'll see you tomorrow, okay? Sorry for waking you up."

"Just have some fabulous coffee waiting for me in the morning."

Ianto chuckled, "Always." He hung up and stuck his mobile back into his jeans pocket.

Ianto bit his lip in indecision and tapped on the steering wheel. On the one hand, he had no idea what it was that Jack was looking for. On the other hand, Jack wouldn't go off on his own if it was something really dangerous, would he? _Probably_. But then again; Jack out on his own, late at night, in Bute Park—he was either looking to hook up with someone, --possible--, or he was Weevil hunting—that was slightly more plausible. If Jack wanted to find someone to have sex with he could do it in any bar across town, he didn't have to go traipsing around a park in the rain.

Most likely a Weevil, then.

Ianto reached back to pull his long, black overcoat out of the backseat, then felt underneath the passenger seat for the gun he had hidden there strapped to the underside of the seat. Placing it on the dashboard, he reached into the glove compartment to get some Weevil spray and a torch; he debated over whether or not to bring an umbrella but ultimately decided that the wind would probably destroy it.

It took a bit of work to get the car door open against the rain, but he managed, barely. Pulling his coat tight around him, Ianto tucked his gun into the waistband of his trousers and locked the car behind him. The weather report had said that the storm would lull tonight, giving a possibility of some dry spells, but Ianto had seen no sign of the rain abating. The strength of the wind buffeted him back against the car and he wondered what on earth had possessed Jack to go Weevil hunting on a night like this. _Boredom, more than likely_, knowing Jack.

Ianto switched the torch on and moved off into the trees. His suit was completely drenched almost immediately and stuck to his skin awkwardly, restricting his movement. His new dress shoes were also completely ruined, he'd have to requisition a new pair; the expensive, Italian leather was soaking and encased in a thick layer of mud. The mud was also clawing its way up his trouser legs, reaching halfway up his shins already.

Jack had better have an excellent reason for this escapade.

Then Ianto heard the scream. _Jack_! He took off at a run, ignoring the branches that snagged at his suit and scratched at his face. The torch was all but forgotten as he ran wildly, feet slipping and squelching in the thick mud, using the sound of the scream as a compass. As he drew nearer the sounds of scuffling and of heavy military boots scrabbling for purchase against gravel become more apparent; Ianto quickened his pace.

He burst through a line of bushes to find Jack lying flat on his back with a Weevil latched onto his hand_. This is somewhat familiar._ Ianto glanced around frantically for a weapon to dislodge the Weevil, and when his gaze fell upon a fallen branch he couldn't help but smile at the irony. Picking up the branch he hit the Weevil hard across the back of its head and it fell off Jack and onto its back. Ianto was on it in an instant, whipping the Weevil spray from his pocket and subduing it rapidly into unconsciousness.

Ianto turned to look at Jack and found him lying perfectly still on his back. "Jack, are you all right?" There was no answer from the other man; Jack was laying spread-eagled on the ground, his face blank and his gaze glassy, staring up into the sky, where a break in the clouds allowed some stars to shine through. Ianto scrambled over to him until his face was directly over Jack's.

"Jack, it's me—Ianto."

Jack closed his eyes and a slow, contented smile slide over his face; Ianto worried and began to look for bloodstains on Jack's person. Suddenly Jack's hand shot out and grabbed Ianto by his blood-red tie. Ianto started slightly at the unexpected contact, and Jack took full advantage by yanking on the tie and bringing Ianto to his knees so that he was straddling Jack. Ianto breathed a curse as the small stones of the path cut into his knees, but his muttering was cut off when Jack tugged again and lowered Ianto's lips to his own.

Ianto was surprised by how gentle the kiss was. No tongues, no teeth, no fire; just Jack's lips, barely touching his own. Their hot, sweet breath mixed in the tiny space between them and Ianto could feel the rain run across the curve of his lips and fall in minuscule droplets onto Jack's.

"Jack." Ianto whispered warningly and made to stand but Jack snaked a hand around the back of his head and pulled him into a kiss that was more typical of Weevil hunting. The fact that he was kneeling on top of his boss in the middle of a storm with an unconscious Weevil beside him eluded Ianto for a moment.

When Jack kissed him, everything sharpened, sensations were amplified; the gravel under his knees caused pinpricks of pain to explode on his skin, the rain slipping down his neck was colder and wetter than before, Jack's mouth was hot and damp and the slide of his tongue caused Ianto's tongue to tingle with an electric intensity.

Ianto pulled his head back and Jack flopped down with a disappointed groan. Ianto gave him a smile, "If this is going to happen, Captain, take that coat off and hang it on a tree; mud is impossible to get out." Ianto laughed as Jack displaced him in his hurry to stand and remove his coat, sending him flying into a pile of mud that seeped down his neck.

As soon as the coat was off, Jack returned and pinned Ianto into the mud with two hands on his shoulders. Ianto grinned up at him. "You seem to be a bit out of your depth, Captain," he said mildly.

Jack shook his head, "Ah, Mr Jones, when will you learn that I only put myself in these situations to be rescued by handsome, young men."

"Really?" Ianto said, "Find any?"

"No, one of my teammates has this terrible habit of swooping in like a big, dashing hero and saving me."

"What a tosser."

"Well he does have some good qualities to recommend him."

"Such as?"

"Well, he's pretty handy with a filing cabinet…aah!"

Ianto grinned up at Jack as he felt his freezing hand warming rapidly against Jack's bare skin, underneath his shirt. Weevil hunting was so much more fun with two—even if it did mean that on this occasion he was going to get mud in the most awkward places.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jack was driving the SUV towards the pub where they were supposed to meet the final applicant, Robert Carmichael. Ianto was sitting beside him tense and angry. They were already thirty-five minutes late and Ianto was not best pleased; he said it went against his principles, and he apparently blamed Jack for their being late. Although there were two of them in the forest last night, two of them in the showers, two of them in Jack's bed last night, and this morning, and in the shower this morning—_two of them. _So Jack thought it was highly unfair that the blame was being squarely placed in his lap, or more accurately, his crotch.

When they arrived, the two men had to fight against the gusting wind which was threatening to take their legs from under them each time they took a step.

They had just managed to stumble through the door when Jack's eyes landed on someone he recognised; he put a hand on Ianto's arm to steady him and leaned close to murmur, "Ianto, eleven o clock." Ianto nodded imperceptibly and moved behind Jack to take his coat and subtly looked to where Jack had indicated. Jack felt a tightening of Ianto's hand on his shoulder and knew that he'd seen and understood.

Jack took another look around and his eyes fell on the candidate, Robert Carmichael. Jack gave an appreciative grin as the man stood. He was tall, almost as tall as Ianto, but he was of a more stocky build—surprising for a computer technician, but perfect for the field agent that Jack needed. He had intelligent green eyes and sandy brown hair. He was dressed casually, filling out a dark green jumper and pair of blue jeans very well; _this was going to be fun._

"Captain Jack Harkness. Pleasure to meet you, Robert; I can call you Robert, can't I?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When they left the pub an hour later Ianto was still laughing at Jack, his mood most definitely improved, and Jack was feeling a bit put out over Robert's rather blunt refusal.

"Come on, Ianto," Jack said as they sat in the car, "I didn't do that badly, four out of eight isn't bad."

"Jack, of those four, you only received two nervous, bordering on desperate, fumbling snog sessions in the back alley and one phone number to a personal phone…four? You're not counting that game of footsie with Dr Winstone, are you?" Jack nodded guiltily. "Jack, the man though that it was a mouse! All in all, I'd say you're losing your touch, Captain."

"How dare you, Ianto; it's not like I _wanted_ to have sex with any of them."

"Then what exactly were the motives behind your unique interview technique?"

"I don't want to hire people who would sleep with me."

"Jack, that doesn't make any sense, you _only_ hire people who would sleep with you. I _am_ sleeping with you."

Jack rolled his eyes impatiently. "Yes, Ianto, but I want them to present a bit of a challenge. You're sleeping with me now, but it took work: persistence, commitment. And it was worth it. Ianto Jones you were an impossible thing; so close but untouchable, attracting and repelling in equal measure, flirting and rejecting with crushing indifference. I need people who will challenge me, Ianto, not people who will go along with everything I say."

Ianto still looked confused. "So in order to see if they would challenge you, you used the most powerful weapon in your arsenal: sex."

"Exactly…"

"But you didn't get any sex."

"Ianto…"

"You got a drink thrown on you and a slap, and a threat to smash a glass of Magners into your face."

Jack cleared his throat and avoided noticing the way Ianto's shoulders quivered with suppressed laughter. He decided a change in subject would be wise; "So what did you say to Mulroney?"

It was Ianto's turn to grimace as he recalled that particularly unpleasant encounter. "Well, as you know, he missed his last few appointments to check in with me. I asked him about it, and he spent the next five minutes explaining, in vivid detail, the Raxoniaxus birthing process. Did you know that the male carries the baby and that it literally explodes through his stomach? That's another little gem for the archives."

"Did you explain how dangerous it is for the refugees to be missing their contact appointments? We have no idea what could have happened to them."

Ianto rolled his eyes and answered in a weary voice, "Yes, Jack, I did. He knows how important check-in is, but he's found adapting to earth technology particularly difficult. I'm giving him another lesson in the correct use of a mobile telephone in our next meeting."

They were silent for a while as the SUV sat idling in traffic; the only sound was the swish of the windscreen wipers and the gentle thrumming of the engine.

"I like him." Ianto said out of the blue, staring out of his window. Jack grinned; anyone who won Ianto over was generally a good catch.

Robert Carmichael was as good as hired.

* * *

Thanks for reading please review


	5. Chapter 5

At 4

At 4.30am on the morning of the 15th of August Jack Harkness was rather rudely awoken by someone poking him incessantly, and it wasn't the good kind of poking either. This was the kind of poking that was done with slim, agile fingers which found spaces between ribs and tried to puncture lungs. Jack opened his eyes slowly and found a blurry version of Ianto Jones staring at him.

"Ready for round two?" Jack said, feeling himself waking up with surprising speed.

Ianto snorted at him and gave him a quick kiss, pulling back before Jack could deepen it. "No, Jack, the potential recruits are here today, and since that bloody Secretian…well..secreted all over the cells and main Hub, we have a lot of cleaning to do. Get up, Jack!" Ianto ordered when Jack went to bury himself back under the blankets. Grabbing a handful of the sheets, Ianto tugged, and Jack went flying out of bed landing in a pile on the floor with an undignified yelp.

He threw Ianto an indignant look but was ignored as Ianto began putting the sheet back onto the bed with military precision. Jack took a moment to appreciate the view of his young lover bent over his bed, pulling the sheet taut. Ianto had already dressed in what Jack had affectionately termed the 'Cute Suit' with a white shirt and black tie; Jack thought he looked every inch the mysterious alien hunter operating out of a secret underground base. How Ianto managed to look so dapper at such an ungodly hour, Jack could never fathom, especially with the late night they'd had.

"Why are you up so early?"

Ianto didn't turn around as he tugged at the linen sheets "We have to tidy up, Jack, the place is a pigsty. Don't you want to make a good impression on the new guys?"

"I _always_ make a good impression"

"Indeed."

"Aren't they supposed to be trying to impress us?"

"Just get dressed, Jack, the sooner we're up, the more time we have to prepare."

"Ianto, relax. They won't be here for another three and a half hours."

Ianto ignored that as he patted the bed down, and once satisfied he turned back, obviously intending to go back up to the main Hub. He stopped, apparently startled by the fact that Jack still hadn't moved. Jack grinned up at him, naked and shameless, and gave a not very subtle thrust of his hips. Ianto rolled his eyes at Jack's obvious arousal and carefully stepped over him, walking briskly towards the ladder.

"_Ianto…"_ Jack whined, pouting and trying to look hurt. It seemed to work as Ianto passed at the ladder, his hand poised on the side and his foot resting on the bottom rung. Ianto turned with a world-weary sigh and sad eyes, throwing Jack's boxers at him. "Sorry, Captain, duty calls. Time to face your new recruits." With that he started up the ladder, leaving Jack sitting naked on the cold concrete feeling dejected and not at all eager about the arrival of new operatives in the Hub.

When Jack emerged, showered and dressed, half an hour later, he found Ianto on his hands and knees scrubbing the floor vigorously, trying to get rid of the dark green stains that last night's unexpected arrival had left. Jack walked up behind him and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, feeling the archivist's muscles tense beneath him.

"Ianto."

Ianto sat back on his heels but didn't turn to look at Jack, "Jack."

"It'll be hard."

"I know."

"We need to do this."

"I know."

"We're not replacing them."

Ianto stood and let out a long, shaky breath as he turned to face Jack, "I know."

"So you're okay?"

Ianto gave him a tight smile, "Yes, sir."

Jack frowned at that blatant lie, and Ianto gave a defeated sigh, "No, Jack. But I'll get over it." Ianto made an aborted hand-gesture with his right hand, his left was resting on his hip. "You're right, we need more people. It's just…they'll be in the Hub…I don't… it hasn't felt real until now. Now someone else will be sitting at Tosh's desk and using Owen's equipment." Ianto shrugged and gave Jack a self-conscious smile, "I don't know. I can't help it"

Jack smiled fondly and put a hand on his shoulder. "It's all right, and I know what you mean. It's always hard finding new teammates, rebuilding a team; it never gets any easier, Ianto. Never. But you form new dynamics, new relationships and you persevere."

"Persevere?"

Jack gave a tight nod. And Ianto noticeably straightened, squared his shoulders and yanked his jacket straight. "I'll get some coffee on then; can't very well persevere without coffee, can we?"

Jack watched Ianto as he made his way over to the coffee machine and was content. If Jack knew one thing about Ianto Jones, it was that he persevered; through fire and death and love and loss, Ianto Jones persevered.

"Oh, and Ianto. Leave that stain; if they can't handle a little alien guts, then they're in the wrong profession."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Gwen arrived earlier than usual, walking into the Hub at 6.34am and not looking very happy about it. She stormed through the rolling Hub door, through the main Hub, somehow managed to ignore the cup of coffee that a bewildered Ianto offered her (although Jack reckoned that she faltered a bit), marched into Jack's office and slammed the door behind her. "What the hell do you think you're doing, Jack Harkness?"

Jack looked up at her as innocently as he possibly could, and with a long-suffering sigh he set aside the report he had been pretending to read. "What's wrong, Gwen?"

Gwen huffed and folded her arms across her chest, "You just got me out of bed at 6am because you said that aliens had stolen the tourist office, and what do I find when I get here? A tourist office that seems remarkably earth-bound considering it was transported by aliens not two hours ago."

"Well, Gwen, we've got the new recruits coming in today, and Ianto and I need you here. I didn't want you pulling a disappearing act—and don't give me that look, you know that's _exactly _what you planned to do."

Gwen looked down guiltily and bit her lip. When she met Jack's eyes again her gaze was wet, "It's just hard, Jack; you don't _need _me for this. You and Ianto can pick people. Whoever you pick will be fine, I just don't think I can, not after..." Her breath hitched, "Not after Tosh and Owen..I can't replace them, Jack, I can't do it."

Jack stood and walked around his desk, taking Gwen's hands in his. "Gwen, we are not replacing them. And I'm sorry, I wouldn't make you do this if there was any other way. But we need you. We need your input—we need to make this decision as a team."

Gwen still looked belligerent and was refusing to meet his eyes. She shook her head miserably. "Jack…I don't…."

"Gwen, Ianto can't do this by himself; I've done this before, he hasn't. He's lost colleagues, but he's never had to truly let them go. He needs your help with this. I need your help. The three of us, that's all any of us has, and we need to stick together on this. We _need _you Gwen."

Gwen swallowed and nodded once, looking up and finally making eye contact. She nodded again and even managed a weak smile. Without any more words, Gwen gave Jack's hands a squeeze, then released him, walking out of the office, with her head held a little higher. Jack watched her as she walked back out to her computer and accepted the coffee Ianto handed her with smile, putting a gentle hand on his arm and giving it a squeeze.

If Jack knew one thing about Gwen Cooper, it was that she cared; through life and death and loss and rebirth, Gwen Cooper cared.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

At 7.45am Ianto Jones left the tourist office just off Mermaid Quay and made his way to Roald Dahl Plass, to the water tower, where he had arranged to meet the four applicants. As he walked he recalled everything he knew about them.

Doctor Samuel Winstone, 54, previously of both the SAS and UNIT. Divorced. No children. Tours in the Falklands and Afghanistan. Highly trained in weaponry and hand-to-hand combat. Was slightly less agile now due to his advancing years, but still a formidable man. An exceptional doctor, chief medical officer on Projects Orion and Jonas. Helped to develop UNIT's equivalent of Retcon. Psychological testing revealed him to be no more unstable than any member of UNIT or Torchwood; technically he was much more stable than Ianto, according to the psych test that Owen had done on him when Jack left—but Ianto sill wasn't sure if that had been a joke or a way for Owen to try to stop him going into the field. Winstone had a high-handed manner and had treated Ianto as a boy who couldn't possible imagine the things he had seen. But other than that Ianto had no qualms about the man.

Robert Carmichael, 35, previously of UNIT. No real firearms training. Young and physically fit with no real family to speak of. Currently being under-worked and underappreciated. A remarkably talented computer technician. Had cracked the UNIT security system without breaking a sweat, Tosh had told Ianto during one of their lunchtime coffee breaks together that it had originally taken her 12 hours and copious amounts of coffee to do the same. Desperate to prove himself and would undoubtedly be extremely grateful to Torchwood for getting him out of UNIT. Had threatened to smash a glass in Jack's face. Ianto couldn't help but like him.

Doctor Henriett Thompson, 32, previously of Cardiff A&E. No firearms training. In good physical condition and was currently living with her fiancée who was also a doctor. No previous experience of aliens, other than what Ianto and Jack had shown her in her two interviews (and what she saw every Saturday night in A&E). An excellent physician, she had treated both Ianto and Owen when a mission had went spectacularly wrong during Jack's absence. She had been professional and practical and had no time for awkward questions or Gwen's fussing. She had been Retconned, of course, and even after two meetings didn't seem to have any recollection of Ianto.

And finally Jenny McGregor, 29, currently of Torchwood Glasgow, looking for a transfer. Standard Torchwood field training—well, as standard as anything in Torchwood Two could be, seeing as it was run by a borderline alcoholic with a serious attitude problem. _Couldn't be much worse that Torchwood Three_; Ianto reasoned, _it's run by the immortal equivalent of a hormonal schoolboy with an attitude problem_. Estranged from her parents and, as was true of most remaining Torchwood employees, no partner. She was technically brilliant, not quite as good as Carmichael, but she was one hell of a field agent. Ianto had met her on a trip to Torchwood House to find a piece of tech for the archives and had liked her quick wit and even quicker temper. She had thrown a drink in Jack's face and slapped him so hard that the red mark was still there an hour later despite his rapid healing.

Ianto thought they would have their work cut out trying to choose between all the candidates. Jack's suggestion that they just whip out a measuring tape and decide who got the job had been quickly vetoed by Gwen. After she had gotten over the bad mood that had consumed her when she arrived, Gwen had focussed and was taking their task extremely seriously, and she kept giving him odd looks that Ianto didn't quite know how to decipher, like he was a lost kitten or something.

It only took four minutes and thirty-five seconds for all the candidates to assemble at the water tower. Ianto watched them, unseen, from a distance, wanting to see how they'd interact with each other. To his amusement, they didn't interact at all. Dr Winstone sat on the steps and started to read the paper he had tucked under his arm; Robert Carmichael stared at the Millennium Centre and seemed to be trying to pronounce the Welsh to himself, if the movement of his lips was anything to go by. Dr Thompson was sitting on a nearby bench watching the early morning tourists walk by with a sharp, discerning gaze, as if she was expecting a trap, and Jenny McGregor was alternating between looking at her watch and checking her mobile phone with a growing impatience.

At exactly 8am Ianto approached the group and watched how, as each of them noticed him, they stood a little straighter and unconsciously straightened already straight ties and skirts, patted down hair and picked invisible pieces of lint from their clothes. That made him smirk; it was a rare occasion at Torchwood when anyone else wore a suit, and no one had ever fretted about how they might look to him, except maybe Jack, but he was just vain like that. Jack spent a good 15 minutes on his hair every morning.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. If you would be so kind as to follow me." And, without waiting for a reaction or any sign that they had heard him, Ianto turned on his heel and walked briskly across the Plass, leading them under the bridge and across the walkway to the tourist office. He paused when he got to the door to hold it open and allow them to precede him into the dank office.

Ianto looked around ruefully as he entered. The others were making disapproving noises that he assumed were because of the smell of damp that pervaded the small office. The office had been getting a little shabby ever since Jack's departure had forced Ianto into the field more, but since the destruction of Cardiff it had become impossible to maintain the front, and Ianto had closed the office for good.

So now the tiny space was filled with a musty aroma, the brochures and leaflets and all been packed away into boxes, and the desk, computer and shelves were all covered in a thin layer of dust. Dr Winstone pulled out a hanky and put it over his mouth in an overdramatic fashion, and Jenny McGregor seemed to have developed an acute attack of asthma as she was coughing in an exaggerated way, whilst waving frantically at the air in front of her. Dr Thompson was looking at Jenny with an alarmed, repulsed expression, and Robert Carmichael was ignoring them all, instead looking sceptically at the old computer terminal.

Ianto rolled his eyes, a little bit of dust and grime and they fell apart. Wait until they met Myfanwy and saw the fluorescent green stain that he hadn't had time to finish scrubbing that morning. Owen would probably call them '_a pack of pussies',_ but then again, Owen had been perfectly willing to live in complete squalor before Ianto had arrived to clean up after him, so his opinion didn't exactly carry much weight. Plus he was officially dead and therefore couldn't have an opinion anymore. Ianto shook his head slightly to interrupt the warped flow of his thoughts. _They're starting to stare at you, get going._

Ianto brushed past them and hit the button on the underside of the desk to release the door mechanism. The wall swung in with a rough, grinding sound, and Ianto smiled as he heard a gasp (Dr Thompson), a sneeze (Dr Winstone) and a scornful laugh (Jenny). Ianto stood back and gestured for the candidates to precede him. As Jenny passed, she muttered, "Very swish, Jones, didn't know you had it in you." Ianto gave a tight smile as she preceded him through the door. The applicants stood in an unsure huddle just beyond the door, and, as it closed behind him, Ianto walked briskly past them and started down the hall to the lift, his footsteps echoing loudly off the stone walls.

The lift ride passed in complete silence that Ianto knew was slightly unnerving to each of the applicants, judging by the fidgeting and shuffling of feet. He couldn't really blame them; the lift was really far too small to comfortably fit five fully grown adults. But he gave no sign of discomfort, standing straight and tall with his eyes fixed on a spot on the wall. Ianto knew that his posture was making them more nervous, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. They were entering into a highly dangerous world, if they couldn't handle a little pressure, they had no business being here.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Gwen watched from her desk as Ianto ushered the possible new team members in through the cog door. Gwen eyed the two men and two women speculatively. There was an older man who looked like he was in his fifties but was obviously physically fit, judging by the muscles that strained the arms of his old-fashioned suit. The younger man who looked to be around her age was tall and stockily built; it was rather obvious to her that Jack was looking for team members who could look after themselves physically.

The younger of the two women was looking around the Hub with her nose wrinkled, and she leant back to say something to Ianto that make him mock glare at her then give her a small smile, his real smile, the smile it had taken her two months to get out of him. Gwen felt an unmistakable surge of jealousy that she quickly quelled. The other woman, Gwen realised with a jolt, was a doctor who had treated Ianto and Owen after a horrendous mishap whilst Jack had been away, Gwen hadn't especially liked her, a bit too full of herself: she'd made Gwen wait outside whilst she treated Ianto, despite her Torchwood credentials.

Gwen watched as Ianto led them across the metal walkway, gesturing to the water tower, the Rift manipulator and smiled to himself when an unexpected visit from Myfanwy caused the candidates to duck for cover and two shrill screams rent the air. Gwen was pretty sure that one of them had come from one of the men.

Ianto walked out, pointing out the armoury as he made his way down towards the cells. Gwen reasoned that he was going to show then the Weevils and perhaps the archives door. He'd never take them into the archives of course, but he'd most certainly show them the door and the big NO UNAUTHORISED PERSONNEL sign and explain to them that authorised personnel were the archivist and occasionally the boss. Not the doctor, or the technician, or the police liaison or whatever job title Gwen had assigned herself that week.

When they returned from the lower levels half an hour later, Gwen was sitting in the conference room with Jack, trying to look both nonchalant and dramatic. Jack was achieving this reasonably well, but Gwen was having a bit of difficulty which meant she feared that looked more like a cow with wind than a super cool alien hunter. Gwen watched as Ianto calmly showed them the work stations and the autopsy bay, and she wondered how he could be so unmoved looking at the place where Tosh had slowly bled to death, where he had spent days on his knees scrubbing at her blood until it was no more than a slight red tinge on the tiles. But as he turned, Ianto's hands strayed to his hips momentarily in his own unique tell. If anything ever revealed Ianto's thoughts, it was those hands on his hips.

Ianto proceeded to shepherd the new arrivals up the steps to the conference room, and Gwen sat a little straighter as they entered, eyeing her and Jack curiously. Jack stood and smiled his most lascivious smile at them as they wandered in like sheep to the slaughter "Good morning prospective future employees, I'm Captain Jack Harkness; I'm the boss, as you already know." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and Gwen had to fight not to roll her eyes; across the room Ianto was less successful. "This is Gwen Cooper; she is our police liaison. And Ianto Jones, you all know. Ianto handles the archives, looks after any aliens that may have to stay here and Myfanwy, cleans up after us, does general maintenance in the Hub and with the SUV." Jack passed for a dramatic intake of breath. "He also deals with any cover stories, disposing of dead bodies and Retconning witnesses, does all the admin and generally keeps us on speaking terms with other organisations. And he makes fantastic coffee."

Gwen was just as astonished as he recruits at hearing Ianto's full list of duties laid bare. How the hell did he find time to sleep, doing all that and going into the field? And when did he find time to keep Jack satisfied? No wonder they had to resort to stolen moments in the hothouse; Gwen would have to facilitate this kind of interaction more often. Maybe she could start doing more paperwork..nah..feed the Weevils—yeah, that was less boring.

Jack turned to Ianto and considered him seriously for a moment, "When did you last get a raise, Ianto?"

Ianto raised an eyebrow and gave a sardonic smirk "I do believe your exact words were, 'When the Rift closes over, Gwen kills a kitten and I stop staring at your ass when you're feeding Myfanwy—in other words, never', Captain."

Jack and Gwen both laughed, but the candidates were looking from Jack to Ianto and back again wondering if they were joking or being serious. Ianto ignored them and asked, "Coffee, Jack?" Jack nodded and Ianto disappeared back down the stairs. Jack turned to the applicants and asked them to take a seat.

"So, to work. How many of you have kissed a member of your own sex?"


	6. Chapter 6

Robert left his hotel at 7.15am, leaving himself plenty of time to walk and arrive at the Water Tower in Roald Dahl Plass by 8am. He had dressed formally, in a pair of black suit trousers, a blue shirt, dark blue tie and a black blazer. The outfit was completed by a tan satchel that doubled as a laptop case, which he hung across his body.

The walk through the centre of Cardiff was uneventful, and although he got lost once somewhere that had a signpost for a place called Splott, Robert managed to make it to Mermaid Quay by 7.40am. The Plass was almost empty, but for a few especially eager tourists and an older man, who was also wearing a suit, sitting on the steps reading a paper. No one paid Robert any attention as he wandered over towards the water tower, trying to look nonchalant, but ultimately, he feared, looking rather suspicious.

Gradually Robert noticed that there were three other people in suits on the Plass, all looking conspicuous amongst the tourists with their garish shorts and brash voices, and the students enjoying the first hint of sunshine that Cardiff had seen all summer. Robert found it faintly amusing that although it was neither particularly warm or particularly sunny, the locals had embraced what could be one of the few half-decent days of the summer and were wearing skirts and short-sleeved shirts and sunglasses balanced precariously on their heads, just in case the sun happened to emerge from the clouds for an extended period of time.

The others, he assumed, were the other applicants: the older man reading the newspaper, even if his eyes weren't moving and he hadn't turned a page in the last five minutes; a woman, not much younger than he, in a skirt suit and heels. She had deep brown hair that was pulled back into a bun and a rather serious overall demeanour. The other woman looked to be in her late twenties and was about a foot shorter than he was and was not wearing heels but a pair of flat shoes that looked eminently comfortable and rather well-worn; she had also opted for a trouser suit. Her blonde hair fell just above her shoulders and she wore little make-up. She seemed impatient and was glancing from her watch to the water tower to her phone and then back again.

Robert could understand her impatience. He was starting to feel jittery himself: he could feel his leg bouncing and he put hand on it to try and quell the twitching, taking a few paces in front of the water tower to work out some of the tension. He looked up at the Millenium Centre: it was massive. He'd seen it on television, embarrassingly enough on _The X Factor_, which he wasn't a fan of personally, but his fiancée—well ex-fiancée now—Rebecca, had loved it. She enjoyed watching the contestants squirm and mortify themselves; that should have been a warning really.

The words over the entrance was written in Welsh, not that he knew what any of it meant. Robert attempted to sound out some of the words but it was almost impossible, the language had a structure that was completely unfamiliar to someone who had done little more than English and a French GCSE. The only word that was familiar was Arwen, and that was only because of _Lord of the Rings_—Liv Tyler could give Robert a fetish for pointy ears, if anything ever could.

Robert glanced at his watch; 7.59 and 45 seconds, his watch was exact. Absolutely precise. To the second. It was satellite-controlled and was perfectly accurate to Greenwich Mean Time. It was an indulgence bought with his second paycheck, back before he'd been shifted down to the third floor. Not as flash as a sleek sports car or as extravagant as a plasma screen television, but practical, and it had called to his inner-geek from the shop window; he'd never stood a chance.

Glancing up at a rustle of movement from the older man to his right, Robert saw Ianto Jones crossing the Plass. Robert glanced at his watch: exactly 8am. Robert smiled, that man had style. Jones was walking purposefully across the Plass in a black suit with a white shirt and a black tie, casting a picture of solemn dignity in the early morning sunshine.

Robert unconsciously ran a hand through his hair and pulled his blazer straight, not missing the hint of a smile flicker across Jones' face. As he reached them Jones gave a brisk smile, his eyes sweeping across each of them in turn. "Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. If you would be so kind as to follow me." And with that he turned and walked off, without waiting for any of them to react; they all started after him immediately following in a way that reminded Robert strongly of how stupid Olympic athletes looked in walking races.

That didn't stop him from looking just as foolish as he tried to keep up with Ianto Jones' long strides. None of them caught up to him completely until they were at the outside of a run-down tourist office beside the water. It was pretty dank, and Robert couldn't quite understand why they were being brought here. The outer walls were wooden and rotting due to the salt water that bombarded them day to day and the windows were all covered by old, faded newspapers that, judging by the headlines, were years out of date.

Jones held the door and gestured for them to precede him with a courtly arm gesture and slight bow. Robert went in with a slight smirk and immediately squinted at the drastic change from light to dark. It took his eyes a couple of seconds to adjust but when they did he was vaguely horrified by what he saw. That had to be one of the most ancient, dilapidated computer terminals he had ever seen_. If this is what Torchwood calls high-tech, I think I'd be better off at UNIT. At least we have broadband._

His musings were being punctuated by harsh, he suspected somewhat exaggerated, coughs from the short blonde woman who was clutching at her chest and giving Jones a significant look. Robert followed her gaze and watched as Jones dragged himself out of his reverie and brushed past them towards the dusty, old desk. Jones reached underneath it and Robert heard the door behind them close with a snick. Then a low grinding noise filled the small, damp room, and Robert was astonished to see the wall swing open to reveal a secret passage that looked straight out of a Bond movie, one of the really camp Bond movies with Roger Moore.

Jones motioned for them to step into the corridor and then followed them through, brushing past them and walking down the long, well-lit corridor. It was illuminated by round, electric lights that seemed at odds with the ancient stone walls on each side of him. He followed Jones closely, the only sound the click of heels against the floor that echoed around them. Robert was shocked to find a thoroughly modern lift sitting comfortably amongst the stonework at the end of the corridor, but Jones motioned that they should once again precede him, so they did. Robert wondered if Jones' obsession with keeping them ahead of him was more to do with making sure no one got lost or a security measure to make sure no one tried anything.

The lift was barely big enough for five people and Robert had to try exceptionally hard not to touch arms with the woman beside him. It seemed strange to touch arms with someone he'd only just met, so he ended up squished against the lift wall. The blonde woman seemed to find this slightly odd and was giving him a filthy look that he was studiously ignoring. Jones didn't seem to find the cramped conditions unsettling; his back was ramrod straight and his gaze was level and unwavering. It disturbed Robert that a man could be that, well, blank. Was this the effect of Torchwood on their employees? Did they all turn into a uniform workforce with no individuality and unbending adherence to orders? Robert hoped not, but, then again, with Captain Harkness as their leader, how could they be strict on rules and regulations? That man personified the words 'sexual harassment'.

The lift descended quickly, more quickly than a normal lift and Robert felt his stomach rising up in response to the increasing acceleration. Levels flew rapidly past, marked only by a flash of light interrupted by a brief darkness as they past through solid concrete floors. Robert counted seven, the crushing weight of seven floors falling on top of him, not to mention whatever part of the city of Cardiff that happened to be above them, was a bit overpowering. Luckily the lift came to a stop just as he started to feel slightly claustrophobic.

The doors swept open silently and Jones exited before standing in front of a large round door that was shaped like a cog. He gave them a tight smile before turning a key in the wall to his left. The door rolled back slowly to the wail of an alarm and flashing of orange lights. Jones stepped forward and the others followed him until they were through at door, he turned to give them another small smile, "Welcome to Torchwood."

Robert gaped.

He was actually standing open-mouthed, jaw hanging, his tongue was starting to go dry before he realised and closed it. There was a horrible taste left in his mouth like chalk and he winced at the taste, urging saliva back into is mouth.

The base was huge.

It was dirty, grimy, wet and extremely cluttered, but none of that took away from the sheer height of the ceiling or the fact that this was _an ultra cool, secret, underground base. _It seemed designed in the style of a sewer or an underground railway station. It was mind-blowing.

Jones set off across a metal walkway and the click of his shoes against the steel grid reverberated around the cavernous empty space. As he walked, Jones pointed out the water tower which appeared to be a subterranean extension of the tower on the Plass, water poured freely down it into the base forming a pool at its base.

"And just further up you can see the Rift Manipulator which gives us a very small measure of control and helps predict activity along the Rift. But don't fool yourselves, the control really is minimal. The rift is both unpredictable and highly volatile. Hopefully in the future we'll be able to develop technology to exert greater control."

Jones gave them a cordial smile and continued his tour. Robert eyed the Rift Manipulator with interest: it seemed to be a formidable piece of technology with wires and lumps of metal that seemed foreign to his trained eye. Alien, perhaps. His fingers itched as his eyes were drawn to the row of computers near the manipulator—now _that_ was some high-tech kit. If only he could get his hands on one of those computers—the information that they must hold, that sense of divine power that came from having security systems of international superpowers at you fingertips. Torchwood was most definitely looking more attractive than—

_Holy Shit!_

_Was that some sort of bird? _

_No, a dinosaur._

_A real live flying dinosaur._

_Here. In Cardiff._

_Did I just scream like a little girl?_

_Jones is smirking at me._

_Yeah, I just screamed like a little girl._

_This is embarrassing._

Robert straightened self-consciously, tugging on his blazer and ignoring the heat he could feel flushing his cheeks. Jones didn't say anything about the incident other than, "That's Myfanwy; she's a pteradon."

Jones set off once again and led them down a series of tunnels lit by bright fluorescent lights that lined the ceiling. He led them through a seemingly endless trail of tunnels and corridors that branched out in infinite directions. The small group walked in silence, the only sound apart from their heels rapping sharply against the concrete floor was the harsh sound of the breath of five people as they inhaled frigid air that made Robert's lungs burn.

It was the young blonde woman who broke the silence when they'd been walking for what felt like half an hour but was more than likely closer to five minutes.

"Jesus, Jones, would it kill you to turn up the heating?"

Jones turned with a bemused half smile to survey the group who were clutching their jackets close against their bodies. "You'll get used to it." He turned back and continued through the tunnel, "Besides, you won't have to spend much time down here. All that's down here is the archives, and only two people have the clearance to be in the archives."

Robert felt his curiosity spike "Who's that?"

"Myself and Captain Harkness—well, he'll be allowed back in as soon as he's demonstrated to me that he actually knows the alphabet. If any other team member requires anything they just tell me and I find it for them."

Robert thought this sounded reasonable enough but the older man obviously took it as a slight: "Mr Jones, I'll have you know that at present I am at Clearance Level One."

"Really?" Jones seemed mildly impressed but didn't turn around or stop walking.

"Yes, so I don't see why I should be denied clearance."

"Well, for one thing, Dr Winstone, sir, we don't have a Clearance Level One here; we use letters, not numbers, so that Permission is null and void. Secondly, any information that is directly relevant to your work is available on the computer database, so there is no need for you to be down here."

Dr Winstone humphed and muttered discontentedly under his breath, Robert didn't catch what he said but Jones must have because Robert saw his lips twitch into a miniscule smile before his face returned to its normal bland expression.

"I don't suppose any of you have introduced yourselves yet?" Silence greeted Jones' question; he stopped dead and spun on his heel, causing the man behind him to stop toe to toe. Jones took a step back. "I didn't think so."

"Dr Samuel Winstone, Dr Henriett Thompson, Mr Robert Carmichael, Ms Jenny McGregor." Jones gestured to each of them in turn and the candidates appraised each other with what ranged from a disdainful glance (Henriett), to a measuring sweep of muggy brown eyes (Samuel), to out and out blatant ogling (Jenny). Robert himself settled for a brief smile and darting eye contact with each of them.

"Let's move on, shall we?"

They came to a large wooden door that looked ancient but sturdy and well-built. Despite the damp of the underground tunnels, the wood was well-maintained and the thick bolts and hinges shone in the harsh light of the electric bulbs. The door looked like it belonged to a medieval dungeon and was at odds with the modern pad for entering the password and what Robert recognised to be a retinal and a fingerprint scanner as well as a voice activated locking device. Ianto Jones obviously took his job as Torchwood's resident archivist very seriously.

Jones shifted so that his body obscured the data pad, which made no sound as he punched in a series of numbers. Jones took a step back and put his eye to the retinal scanner that swept his bright blue iris with a red light, and then he pressed his thumb, second finger and little finger to the print scanner. Each was accepted without mishap and a beep was emitted to signify the start of the voice recognition period. Jones threw the gathered applicants a slightly embarrassed look before speaking.

"Captain Jack Harkness is a sex god with an ass that won't quit."

The four applicants stood in dumbfounded silence as there was a accepting beep and the door swung open. Jones turned to them; looking flustered with a warm blush suffusing his cheeks, he opened and closed his mouth a few times before he settled on a shrug. "It was Jack's turn to choose to the password."

As he walked into the room Robert was hit by the stale, musty air that felt dry and brittle against his tongue; the archives were obviously air locked. The room they were in at the moment was a phenomenal length; it contained row after row of old wooden shelves that would not have been out of place in an Oxford library. Each shelf was laden with files or metal boxes, stretching up to the vaulted ceiling.

After an extremely brief tour which took in what Jones assured them was a small section of A-Ad, Jones led them back towards the main work area of the base, or 'Hub', as Torchwood Three had named it. A short tour of that area revealed the work stations, the kitchen, and the coffee machine which they were rather forcibly advised to stay away from.

"This is the coffee machine, the life blood of Torchwood."

"I'm not that fussed on coffee." Henriett said with a sniff.

Robert saw Jones' shoulders tense and his eyes narrow. "Not that fussed…"

"No, I prefer tea."

Jones spun around to give her an incredulous look "How did you get through med school without coffee?"

"Contrary to poplar belief, Mr Jones, not all doctors are addicted to caffeine."

"In my experience they require at least three cups before they get any work done."

They were then shown the autopsy bay. Robert couldn't help bit notice that the tiles had a dull red hue to them, but given it was an autopsy bay Robert didn't find it too odd.

Plenty of aliens had red blood, didn't they?

"So. Dr Thompson or Dr Winstone, this is where you will be spending the majority of your time with corpses and blood samples and whatever biological agent has come through the Rift on any given day."

"What kind of biological agents? Chemical warfare?" Dr Winstone asked.

"Sometimes."

"Ever get any sex pheromones down here, Jones?" Jenny McGregor asked with a smirk and Roberts eyebrows shot up into his hairline. _Sex pheromones?_

"Whatever you get up to in Torchwood Glasgow is entirely your own business, Jenny. I'd rather not hear about it."

Before Jenny could add anything else Jones reached the top of the metal staircase and pushed open the glass door to what looked like a conference room. Inside the room was a woman who looked to be in her early thirties with long black hair and an obtrusive fringe that hung over her large brown-green eyes. As they entered, she smiled prettily to reveal a large gap between her front teeth; freckles stood out starkly against her skin, pale from the dreary Cardiff weather and too many hours in an underground base.

The man stood as they entered and he too smiled but his grin was wide, charming and so bright that Robert felt his eyes squint reflexively. Captain Jack Harkness.

_Captain Jack Harkness plus sex pheromones plus underground base plus flying dinosaur. That had to make for an interesting Christmas party._


	7. Chapter 7

The last three days had of Robert Carmichael's life had been the most jaw-dropping, awe-inspiring, exciting, terrifying and—in the case of long lectures about what was and what was not appropriate to put in the communal fridge—boring.

The second day they had a series of lectures from the existing employees of Torchwood Three. _Fascinating._

The first seminar had been held by Ms Cooper who had started by insisting that they call her Gwen and then flushed and giggled to herself if any of them called her "ma'am". Her lecture had been entitled "Torchwood and The Outside World."

She had prepared a PowerPoint presentation that detailed the need for Torchwood personnel to interact and co-operate with the local police. It also went into rather stringent and heart-felt detail about how one should keep a life outside Torchwood. To Robert's seasoned eye it looked like it had been designed by a child and it read like a preachy self-help manual, full of flowery rhetoric and impractical platitudes. Gwen's personal favourite seemed to be "Don't let it drift."

After lunch Captain Harkness had announced that he had an extra special surprise for them, Ianto had rolled his eyes, and Robert had been on his guard. Robert had noticed a correlation on his first days at Torchwood: when Ianto Jones rolled his eyes, the Captain was about to do something foolish or dangerous, or both.

But rather than a game of tentacle hockey, or intergalactic naked ping-pong, or chasing after a razor-toothed badger, or any other of Jack's wild and undoubtedly impossible suggestions, Robert found himself in the Torchwood sub-levels on what appeared to be a shooting range. The session had passed with a string of innuendo and inappropriate touching that could have been accidental but more than likely wasn't.

But Robert had gritted his teeth and ignored how Harkness' groin was pressed against his back because, despite being possibly the worst boss in the history of the world, Jack Harkness was a damn good teacher, and Robert was going to take full advantage of his expertise.

That didn't stop him from standing pointedly on Harkness' foot if he got too close, Jack took the hint well enough, though, and just laughed as he stepped away.

Their final seminar had taken place with Ianto Jones and was by far the most interesting, even if the source material was mostly incredibly mundane. For a top secret organisation there really was an astonishing amount of paperwork involved. Ianto had taken them through the entire book of 567 protocols that set out how a Torchwood employee should conduct themselves.

Robert noted that during the first two days Captain Harkness had broken around 112 of them.

Normally Robert would have been asleep by number twenty-four, but Ianto had peppered the lecture with real life examples and explanations as to why the rule had been introduced from the archives.

Robert's personal favourite was #334 'No Torchwood Employees should engage in any form of intercourse with an extra-terrestrial life-form as the tentacles bloody hurt' Ianto had explained that this rule had been laid down in 1907 after a rather ill-advised orgy involving three Torchwood employees and a Tranorian with very flexible tentacles that had left one of the operatives dead and the other two unable to walk for a month. Ianto had ruefully gone on to say that this rule had been flouted by employees in the past with rather unfortunate results so if they could keep from shagging any alien it would be appreciated, thank you very much.

So it was that on the Thursday of his first week at Torchwood, Robert found himself sitting in a coffee shop on Mermaid Quay having an espresso with three extra coffee shots. Jack had given the four prospective employees an extended coffee break so that he could discuss their progress so far with Ianto and Gwen. Robert was more than a little curious about what they were saying about him.

He was sitting at a small wooden table that was with his back to the wall, dressed in a pair of dark blue jeans and a light blue shirt—Gwen had told them that despite Ianto's obvious fondness for suits and Jack's rather eccentric taste in attire, they were the exception rather than the rule and most of the workers wore jeans and T-shirts, as they were easy to clean.

Jenny McGregor was sitting opposite him with a caramel frappacino, sucking casually on the straw and with her eyes fixed unblinking on Samuel Winstone as he regaled them all with another tale of his battlefield victories during his time in UNIT: Robert could swear he recognised some of them as storylines from _Band of Brothers_. Winstone was gesturing wildly with his hands, almost knocking over the cappuccino cup and bottle of what Robert assumed was water in front of him.

Henriett Thompson was listening with polite indifference and was leaning back in her chair and sipping her cup of green tea with practised apathy. She rolled her eyes when Winstone described how he had almost single-handedly saved earth from an alien invasion.

"Yes, well, that's all very interesting, Samuel; well, it was the first time we heard it. But I want to talk about something more interesting—like what do you lot know about Jack Harkness and his team?"

Winstone looked put out by the interruption and shrugged as he lifted his cup to take a swig, "Nothing much, Torchwood keeps to itself mostly."

"You're a Torchwood veteran, Jenny, what do you know about them?" Robert asked the small blonde woman who was now nibbling on an overlarge cookie.

Robert was still slightly wary of Jenny; she was, after all, his competition. He still felt like a bit of distance should be maintained between them Jenny, however, had displayed no such feelings and had dealt with him in the same way she dealt with everyone else—caustically.

It didn't matter if she was talking to Jack or a member of the public or one of her fellow applicants, Jenny was just as brisk and sarcastic to everyone. The only person she seemed to have any compassion for was Ianto Jones; Robert suspected it as because he was the bringer of coffee.

On their second day she had taken to calling him Robbie; he was almost positive she was doing it just to annoy him but he didn't really mind. Samuel Winstone, on the other hand, had gotten very worked up the first few times she had called him Sam. Then Jack had taken to calling him Sam, too, and Winstone was too much in awe of the Captain to object. Robert hadn't missed Jenny's gleeful smile every time Jack called for "Sam."

Jenny pulled a face and wiped a hand across her mouth before answering, "Cardiff were always a bit strange, even by Torchwood's standards. Jack Harkness…." she sighed "Harkness is absolutely everything he's rumoured to be, larger than life, an incorrigible flirt and sexy as hell. But he's also an excellent leader, and he has an unbelievable success record. Not much is really known about him; all his archive files are secure and not even Archie at Glasgow has the clearance to access them."

"His humour is a bit inappropriate." Henriett said archly.

"Ianto and Gwen don't seem to mind." Jenny pointed out.

"They've been desensitised," Robert said sagely. "Stockholm syndrome."

"That makes sense," Henriett said, nodding slowly. "A high-pressure environment with extended periods of contact—that could lead to them being desensitised to his blatant harassment. I'm not sure if I'm comfortable with it."

"Well, I can't see what the problem is—anytime a woman feels anyway uncomfortable in the workplace she pegs it on harassment." Winstone said with a condescending smirk.

Jenny gave him a filthy look. "The only reason you're saying that, Sam, is because he wouldn't even dream about flirting with you. Even Jack Harkness has standards."

Winstone flushed as the other three laughed and changed the subject in a none too subtle manner "What about Jones then? He seems like a right little upstart with his suits and his coffee-- "

"Don't be slagging the coffee, Winstone, the coffee is a God-given talent." Robert interjected.

"Jones." Jenny laughed. "I first met Ianto Jones almost a year ago. He had come up to Scotland to sort through some of the older files in Torchwood House and bring any useful data back to Cardiff. He walked in his expensive suit and the first thing Archie said to him was _'We don't need a new hoover, we already have double glazing and I have already welcomed Jesus into my heart so you can take your fancy suit and piss off.'_

They all laughed at that and Robert wondered if it was a job requirement that Torchwood commanders have a major eccentricity; then again rudeness and sex were far preferable to being a megalomaniac with a tendency to almost destroy the world.

"Anyway, Jones was with us for three weeks and in that time the office was so tidy I could actually see the keys on my keyboard and the coffee was so good that Archie was getting extra drunk so that Ianto would make him lots of hangover banishing coffee."

"So he's a glorified office boy?" Winstone grumbled, "I should have seen it coming with those manners—fat lot of good he'll be in a fire fight. Can he even fire a gun?"

Jenny shrugged as she took another sip of her frappucino. "Dunno. He had his work cut out with the files from Torchwood House; it didn't really leave much time for friendly shooting competitions."

"So what about Gwen Cooper then? Know anything about her?" Henriett asked.

"You mean you don't?" Winstone said scathingly. "How don't you know about her? I've only known her for three days and I already know where she lives, that her husband's name is Rhys Williams; I know where they met, where they got married, where they honeymooned, how she likes her coffee, why she left the police, why she joined Torchwood and the name of her first childhood pet, it was Sparky and he was a Labrador."

"What about her favourite colour?"

"Red."

"Well, I like her." Henriett said somewhat defensively.

"Who wouldn't like her?" said Jenny with a grimace, "She's the _nicest _damn person I ever met."

"She's not very good at keeping secrets, though," Winstone said.

"Torchwood drive around in a big black SUV with their name on it; they're hardly big on secrecy," Robert pointed out with a small grin.

Robert and the girls laughed but Winstone just looked disgruntled; the Captain's lax attitude to security apparently already beginning to grate on his nerves.

"So…." Jenny said, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips "Who's your favourite?"

"I'm sorry, did we all just regress to primary school? Why do we have to have favourites?" Robert rolled his eyes, "Myfanwy definitely—she's the most sane one anyway."

The others laughed. "I dunno, Robbie, Janet's pretty good with people but she does have terrible coffee breath in the mornings." Jenny smirked.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They were just about to enter the tourist office, still arguing about who would win in a fight between a pterodactyl and a Weevil, when Jack came bursting out with his coat swishing dramatically behind him.

"Robert, Henriett with me and Ianto; Sam and Jenny, you guys stay with Gwen and help her with the comms and the CCTV, she's in the process of sealing off the area as we speak." And without another word Jack sprang off down the boardwalk at a sprint.

Robert and Henriett looked at each other for a second before launching themselves after him. Robert skidded to a stop on the gravel that lined Roald Dahl Plass and stared at the SUV parked in front of him. Henriett had no such qualms and jumped into the back seat—Robert supposed that if you can find out about aliens and not break a sweat, then finding an SUV in a pedestrian area must be child's play.

Jack turned to Robert as he shut the door behind him with a snap. "Nice of you to join us."

"You do know that this is a pedestrian area?" Henriett said haughtily, raising an eyebrow at Jack when he swivelled to look at her.

Ianto's voice came from the driver's seat sounding both amused and exasperated "That's what I said."

Jack turned back around to frown at Ianto. "And as I said, we're a secret organisation hunting aliens from an underground base and you're worried about _traffic violations_."

"You have no idea how much of our budget is allocated to your traffic violations."

"How much?" Robert asked curiously.

"More than is allocated for research and development."

"Really?" Henriett asked, scandalised.

"No, not really." Jack said breaking into a small smile, as Ianto laughed.

"So, kids, the situation is that we have a gang of four Weevils loose on George-Lloyd Street; we have to catch 'em, bag 'em and bring 'em home in time for tea."

"Aliens? We're going to catch aliens now? But, but we haven't done that before—"

"Well, there's a first time for everything, sweetheart." Jack said winking at Henriett, he sobered slightly when he saw her unamused expression. "You'll be fine, we'll go in pairs—Henriett, you're with me; Robert, you stick with Ianto."

Robert wasn't sure how happy he was with this arrangement; his full experience with Ianto Jones revolved around orgasmic coffee and an inappropriate amount of filing. Being stuck with the team's secretary on his first time out—possibly with a gun, the mini James Bond fan inside him died a little at that—wasn't exactly ideal. But then again, Ianto probably wouldn't be best pleased to be stuck with what was basically the work experience kid.

As Ianto pulled the car to a tidy stop by the kerb, which contrasted greatly with the screeching halts Jack employed when stopping for something as mundane as a coffee, Robert could feel his heart beat quickening—a steady throbbing in his ears and a feeling of tightness across his chest. _I really hope this isn't a heart attack; that would be embarrassing._

But there was no tingling down either of his arms so Robert assumed he was safe. He left the SUV eagerly—slightly too eagerly, because he stumbled a bit when his leg got caught in the seat belt, which resulted in Jack giving him a rather disturbed look. Robert blushed, but Jack didn't say anything, just swept to the rear of the SUV where Ianto was getting something out of the boot—_guns, _Robert thought excitedly as he followed Jack.

He was therefore severely disappointed when he was handed a can of what looked like air freshener. Jack must have caught the look on Robert's face because he laughed, patted him on the shoulder and said, "Two more sessions, then you can have your very own gun."

"Ianto, you go right, we'll head down the alley and circle around on the left, catch them in the middle and knock them out, okay?"

Ianto gave a terse nod and swept off into the alleyway, avoiding the puddles and spilled containers of leftover Chinese food with a gracefulness that surprised Robert, who managed to take three steps before ending up with chicken chow mein on his new trainers.

The alley itself stank of rotting food and whatever other waste was spilling over the top of the large green wheelie bins; Robert fought to withstand the stench, taking measured, shallow breaths through his mouth until Ianto turned around to give him an amused but questioning look.

As they neared the end of the alley Ianto stopped and stood as still as a statue, a hand frozen in mid air to stop Robert in his tracks. Robert stood immobilized, barely daring to breathe as his heart hammered in his chest; he gripped the small aerosol cylinder in his hand, a task which was becoming increasingly difficult as his palms were beginning to sweat profusely.

Ianto lifted a hand to his earpiece and said in a low voice, "Gwen, do you have the position?"

Gwen's voice came through the comms without preamble "Just around the corner now, Ianto, two of them. Jack is taking the other two, they have one down already."

"Thanks, Gwen."

Ianto was coiled as he glanced around the corner. He pulled back quickly and pressed his back to the grimy wall, grabbing a handful of Robert's shirt and holding him fast against the cool bricks.

"Don't move." Ianto whispered, his voice low and gravelly.

Suddenly the fist balled in Robert's shirt against his thundering heart was gone with a rush of cool air as Ianto sprang around the corner and out of sight. Robert was left immobile, in shock, for a long moment before he pulled himself together and followed Ianto into the street.

He was met by quite a sight.

Ianto Jones—prim, proper Ianto Jones, who had been mistaken for a salesman or a Jehovah's Witness or bank manager, was straddling a Weevil, just like Janet from the cells at Torchwood, struggling to hold it down and attempting to spray it in the face with an aerosol spray identical to Robert's own.

Robert watched as the Weevil's struggles gradually decreased until it was completely still, then Ianto pulled a canvas bag from his suit jacket and placed it over the creature's wrinkled brown face. With that Ianto stood abruptly, brushing off his trousers and give Robert a winning smile.

"Two down, two to go."

Just as the words were out of his mouth a second Weevil shot out from behind a parked VW Golf, and Robert had a flash of lunacy where he wondered how on earth a Weevil would get a licence. The Weevil ran at Ianto snarling, teeth exposed and claws flashing in the afternoon sunshine. Ianto ducked under the marauding talons and dropped into a roll that brought him to his knees behind the Weevil.

The Weevil spun on the spot as Ianto struggled to regain his feet. Robert took a flying leap at the Weevil and managed to wrap his arms around its shoulders, knocking them both to the ground and managing to knock all the air from his lungs.

Robert tried to ignore the fact that his lungs were spasming and that he couldn't breathe; he struggled to get to the Weevil spray which had went flying across the tarmac, but he couldn't reach. The Weevil came at him then, teeth honing in on his jugular, Robert cocked his fist and sent a sharp right hook towards the creature's mangled face. The Weevil let out a cry more of discomfort than pain and rolled away.

Robert got to his knees in time to see Ianto clamour over to the Weevil and spray it in the face until it lost consciousness. Robert stayed on his hands and knees, raising a shaky hand to wipe the sweat from his clammy brow. "Thanks," he offered unsteadily.

Ianto gave him a grin as he walked over and offered him a hand up, "I think_ I_ owe_ you_ the thanks, Robert; that was reckless and dangerous, but much appreciated."

Robert wiped his grubby hand on his trouser leg before accepting the assistance, returning Ianto's grin even if it faltered slightly. "So, when do I get a gun then?"

Ianto turned around to survey the unconscious Weevils. "We try not to use guns with Weevils unless we need to. The Weevils are basically just like wild animals—they do what they need to to live, and we try not to hurt them unduly. They rarely cause trouble anyway." Ianto grunted as he swung the first Weevil over his shoulder. "Mostly they stay in the sewers and mind their own business."

Ianto tapped his earpiece and motioned for Robert to pick up the other Weevil. "We've got two of them, Gwen."

A Scottish accent answered instead of the expected Welsh one. "Good job, Jones, not bad for an office monkey. Harkness has the other two. How did Robbie get on?"

"He did perfectly well, Jenny; what was Gwen thinking letting you near the computer? Did they even have computers in Glasgow? Where is she?"

"Emergency phone call."

Robert snickered as Ianto rolled his eyes—Gwen did spend an extreme amount of time on the phone to her husband Rhys.

"What about Dr Winstone?"

"He went to make himself a drink I think--"

"He's not at the coffee machine, is he?"

"No, calm down, Jones, it's just water. I can see it now, clear water-like liquid—most likely water, definitely not coffee."

Suddenly Jack's voice cut across the comms before Ianto could reply, "Well, kids, if playtime is over, perhaps we could head back to the Hub."

"Sure thing, Jack, we're on our way."

Robert hauled the Weevil over his shoulder and groaned under the dead weight of the senseless alien. It stank, worse even than the alleyway had—then again it did live in the sewers. Robert followed Ianto back towards the SUV to a smirking Jack Harkness and a flushed Henriett Thompson who looked pleased with herself as she helped Jack manhandle the prone weevils into the back of the car.

Robert followed Ianto's example and put his weevil into the boot before slipping into the back of the SUV beside Henriett, who sent him a beaming smile, her eyes shining with residual adrenaline and her hair falling free from her meticulous bun. Robert couldn't help but smile back; the mission had gone well, they were all high on adrenaline and judging by the laughter coming from Jack and Ianto at the back of the SUV, the bosses were pleased.

All in all it was a good day.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

On arrival back to the Hub Robert helps Ianto to transport the Weevils from the garage to the cells; it's a dirty, smelly job but Ianto just grins bravely and says, "Someone's got to do it."

Robert's starting to realise just how true that is.

Not just this specific job; but the job that is Torchwood. Death and filth and Weevils and fear. The heart-pounding adrenaline and the mind-numbing, crippling panic. Robert got a taste of that today. And it was everything that had been missing in his life; a sense of purpose and change and direction, but…

But then there were the doubts, the ones that attacked him at night and kept him from sleep; that Torchwood was too dangerous, that it changed you into someone who wasn't, well, wasn't you. Robert didn't want to end up like Ianto, blank and austere, or Gwen who constantly seemed on the precipice of tears and who needed constant reassurance, whether it be from Ianto's steady hand on her shoulder or the regular phone calls to her husband.

Or worse still, that he would meet the same fate as the person he was replacing. Robert didn't know much about the woman who had held the job he was applying for. He'd briefly seen a photo on Gwen's desk of five people; Jack, Ianto and Gwen he had recognised, all looking younger and happier than he had known them in his short acquaintance.

Then there were the other two—the ghosts—a Japanese woman and a scrawny man in a lab coat. They were young. Too young. Much too young to have died. Robert was under no illusions—they were dead and they were the reason that Jack's smile was ever so slightly strained as he flirted. They were the reason for Gwen's constant phone calls. They were the reason for Ianto's stony faced indifference. They were the reason he was here.

He had been given the best opportunity of his life because they lost theirs. The thought made something inside of Robert twist awkwardly.

"How'd it happen?"

Ianto looked up from where they had just dumped the last Weevil, he dusted his hands down on his trousers and managed to both frown and look surprised. "What happen?"

Robert felt himself flush slightly as he realised that Ianto was not privy to the conversation going on in his head. "The people who died. The one's whose jobs we're taking. How did they die?"

Ianto's face fell and the colour seemed to rush out of it all at once. "Who says they're dead?" He whispered breathlessly.

"No one. I just, sort of, assumed."

Ianto paused and leant against the cell door, briefly, then straightened and turned around to look Robert dead in the eye. Robert resisted the urge to flinch at the pain and loss he could feel emanating off a man who he had thought had the emotional range of a rock.

"Look, Robert, I'm going to be completely honest with you and if that doesn't sit well with Jack then so be it," Ianto's voice was hushed, a harsh whisper in the dank corridor. "Tosh and Owen, they died for this city, for Torchwood."

Robert felt enlightenment hit as palpably as a fist in his gut. "The explosions, last month. They died then, didn't they?"

Ianto nodded and took a step closer, his voice urgent and shaking with suppressed emotion: "Torchwood die young. I will, Gwen will, and if you join, you will. What you have to ask yourself is; is it worth it?"

Ianto held his gaze for a long moment then he reschooled his features and brushed past Robert to the door. Robert watched him go until he was almost at the door.

"What about you, Ianto? Is it worth it, for you?"

Ianto froze mid-step, but didn't turn around. "Torchwood is everything. I live for it and I'd certainly die for it, just like Tosh and Owen."

And with that he left, leaving Robert alone with nothing but Weevils and his thoughts for company.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I don't own Torchwood.

* * *

On Friday night Ianto was standing in his bedroom staring at himself in the full length mirror on his wardrobe door. He looked dishevelled; his tie hung lank around his neck, his shirt sleeves were rolled up and dotted with blood from the alien's body that he had moved to the morgue before he had left and his hair was sticking up at funny angles. And whilst Jack thought that the style looked good on him Ianto was inclined to disagree, maybe because it made Gwen coo like an idiot. His eyes looked dull and tired, even to himself, but that was understandable considering the amount of extra work he had been putting in attending to his usual duties as well as extra work looking after the newbies.

To top it all off Jack had decided that a celebration was in order. No one had died, been maimed or lost an eye; it was an unparalleled success for a Torchwood recruitment period. Jack felt that the night called for socialising, alcohol and, alien invasions withstanding, some sex. Ianto was not so sure.

The week had been hard for him, harder than he had let on to Gwen or even Jack. The effort of keeping up a bland but generally happy demeanour had left him completely wiped, and there was nothing he would like more than to crawl into bed, with or without Jack—he wasn't particularly bothered—and watch some ridiculous Friday night TV.

Ianto wanted, just for one night, to sit and watch the Big Brother eviction, let his brain melt and feel, for the first time in a long time, like a guy in his mid-twenties. The irritating drivel coming from the mouths of undereducated chavs would make him forget, just for a little while, about cyber-converted girlfriends and dead workmates. He could forget about burning towers and a lover who died far too often and far too glibly for Ianto's liking. He could let Davina McCall's shrill voice chase away the dead bodies and hostile aliens and the never-ending feeling of impending death that was always at the back of his mind.

But no. Jack wanted to go out and get better acquainted with four people, two of whom they would never see again after next week and another two who would just wind up dying too early and too gruesomely_. _

_I wonder who'll have to clean that up? _Ianto thought grimly as he tugged the tie from around his neck.

He threw the tie haphazardly over his shoulder, not really caring if it landed on his bed or not. Ianto sighed at himself for looking so bloody miserable and made his way to the ensuite shower, removing his clothes as he did so. The shirt landed in a heap, followed quickly by his trousers and underwear, leaving a trail behind him.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jack let himself into Ianto's apartment at seven thirty balancing a bag of Chinese takeaway haphazardly on his arm as he struggled to find the key on his overcrowded key chain. He kicked the door open with a heavy boot.

"Ianto!"

There was no response but Jack could hear the dull patter of water against tile and assumed that Ianto was in the shower. Jack put down the take-away on the hall table as he paused to remove his boots; he placed them beside Ianto's normally highly polished shoes which were now flecked with blood. Ianto's socks were strewn across the hall, lying where they had been thrown.

Jack smiled; no one else saw this side of Ianto. The Ianto at the Hub was obsessively clean, and that followed through to his home life to a certain extent. But the itch for perfection and order was generally dormant until Ianto had had a good night's sleep. When he was worn out, he was just as messy as everyone else, but in the morning he turned into a slightly psychotic cleaning monster and had to have everything perfected before the day could properly start.

Jack made his way into the kitchen and dumped the Chinese on the table; he wandered around in his socks opening cupboards and rooting through them until he had found a couple of plates and glasses. Humming to himself, Jack poured two glasses of water and set the table he left the take away in the bag, though, he didn't want it to get cold. Jack leant back against the counter and listened to the gentle patter of water coming from Ianto's room.

He was struck by sudden inspiration.

Smiling broadly and Jack crept towards Ianto's bedroom, his feet silent against the deep, plush carpet. As he went into the bedroom he saw that his lover had obviously undressed on the way to the shower as there was a trail of clothes from the wardrobe to the ensuite door, which was tantalisingly left open.

Jack found himself faced with a perilous choice; either he could go in there now and join Ianto in the shower or he could wait, let the anticipation build up inside him and casually proposition Ianto when he emerged flushed and dripping…..

Jack walked over to the bed and sat on it placing his hands palm down under his thighs to help keep himself in check. Jack could hear Ianto humming to himself, his deep voice reverberating around the bathroom, wafting through the open door on waves of steamy air. Jack tried to ignore that voice and the images of Ianto that it brought to mind.

To distract himself he found himself fixating on the most mundane things he could find. _The lamp think about the lamp..no not the way Ianto grabbed at it when..no not the lamp. The wardrobe, yeah wardrobes are safe..wardrobes full of normal clothes, no suits..beautiful, sleek suits, looks good in a suit..looks better out of it….no! Not the wardrobe then. God, Jack, pick something dull..Curtains…curtains aren't sexy..those are some nice curtains I wonder if we could use them to— _

"Ahem."

Jack snapped his head around and saw Ianto standing in front of him wearing no more than a soft white towel around his waist and a half-amused frown on his face.

"Jack. I didn't hear you knock."

Jack squirmed slightly at Ianto's deadpan delivery and felt his hands twitch in an effort to escape their restraints and touch Ianto's glistening skin, which was glowing from the heat of the shower.

"I didn't knock."

"I had assumed as much."

Ianto crossed the distance from the doorway to the bed. "Give me ten minutes and I'll be ready to go."

Jack grinned and his hands shot out from underneath his legs to grasp the towel firmly at Ianto's hips. "Oh, I think this will take substantially more than ten minutes, Mr Jones."

Ianto frowned down at Jack, putting his hands over Jack's but making no attempt to push him away. "I thought you wanted to go out?"

"Out can wait."

Ianto gave a wry smirk. "Oh, I dunno, that may be construed as being rude, Jack."

"Well I guess I'm just a rude kind of guy." Jack murmured yanking on the towel and sending Ianto tumbling into his lap.

"Yes, terrible manners." Ianto agreed.

"So they say." Jack said distractedly, lying back onto the bed and pulling Ianto with him.

"Jack, I'm getting you all wet." Ianto protested, trying to get off Jack, but squirming did nothing except increase Jack's grip on his hips.

"Then I'd better get out of these clothes." Jack replied with a grin.

Ianto stopped squirming and gazed down at him, eyes dark and face flushed, "We'll be late." There was no intonation in Ianto's voice, no protest and no question.

"Yes." Jack replied moving his hand up Ianto's slick back to his damp, mussed hair and pulling him down for a kiss.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jack and Ianto entered the pub almost an hour late to be met with a murderous glare from Gwen who was sitting at a table with the four new recruits. Jack gave her his most winning smile and took the seat furthest away from her. Ianto noticed this and rolled his eyes. "Sorry we're late, Gwen; something came up."

Jack sniggered at that choice of words but was silenced by Ianto's warning look. "Emmm, yeah, Gwen—there was a Weevil sighting we had to take care of." Ianto rolled his eyes in despair; Gwen knew what went on during Weevil hunting.

Gwen's face flooded with understanding. "A Weevil?" She sounded sceptical to Ianto's ears.

Jack must have noticed too because he tried to change the subject: "Yeah. So, kids, what have you been doing without us?"

Ianto looked around at the others, noting that without exception they all looked tired, bored and completely uninterested.

"Nothing." Robert said with an unhappy shrug.

"Absolutely nothing." Jenny clarified, looking mutinous.

Ianto gave a cough, trying to break the mood; he'd seen Jenny in a hissy fit and it wasn't a pretty thing, "I'll get the drinks then, shall I?"

"Don't bother, Ianto; Rhys is getting them."

Jack and Ianto both started and exchanged a look. They spoke simultaneously.

"Rhys is here?"

"What the_ hell_ is he doing here?"

Gwen managed to look defensive, hurt and outraged all in the same breath as she rounded on Jack, "He is here because he is my husband, Jack, and he deserves just as much respect as you and me because he's saved this city too. As long as I am a part of Torchwood, Rhys is a part of Torchwood."

Jack and Gwen glared at each other as the applicants watched, obviously shocked. Ianto, who was used to this kind of scene at least twice a week, ignored them completely and went to help Rhys with the drinks and get one in for himself and Jack.

After all, hot, sticky shower sex was thirsty work.

Ianto managed to find Rhys without too much trouble as there weren't that many people in the bar; the only patrons other than the Torchwood gang were a rowdy-looking football team in the corner and a few middle-aged men who seemed to be trying to drown themselves in pints of room-temperature ale.

Ianto walked over to Rhys and appeared at his shoulder soundlessly making the other man jump and curse: "Jesus Christ, man, what you trying to do, give me a heart attack?"

Ianto grinned; startling people with his silence had become a rather interesting pastime during slow days at Torchwood Three. Owen used to curse him out if Ianto brought him coffee when he was particularly absorbed with something Ianto's smile faded slightly.

"Hey, Rhys. Need a hand?" Ianto indicated to the numerous bottles and the solitary cocktail glass on the bar in front of them.

"Yeah, thanks, Ianto mate, I was having a bit of trouble trying to carry them all." He smiled sheepishly.

Ianto smiled back and took two of the bottles, "I'll just get a drink for myself and Jack and I'll bring them over, okay?"

"Jack's here?" Rhys rolled his eyes, "Fantastic." It took a second for Rhys to remember who he was talking to and his face dropped, "I mean..that…I don't….it's not.." Rhys groaned and Ianto laughed at him.

"I know exactly what you meant, Rhys; sometimes I feel the same way."

"You do?" Rhys looked taken aback.

"Sure, it's not easy hanging around Mr Charm and Charisma twenty-four hours a day; it can get a little exhausting." Ianto gave him a tired grin and Rhys nodded sagely before heading back to their table.

Ianto ordered two bottles of beer for himself and Jack; since coming back from his little jaunt with the Doctor Jack had been more accepting of drinking alcohol—not that he got drunk— after all _the twenty-first century's when it all changes and you gotta be ready_. The number of times Ianto had heard that little spiel of Jack's, it was practically how he introduced himself nowadays. Ianto took great pleasure in standing in Jack's eyeline and mouthing the words along with him. Jack never found it at all amusing and normally sulked for three hours until Ianto brought him coffee and Fox's Classics.

Ianto leant his elbows on the bar and let his weight fall against it; his little session with Jack had left him more energised than he had been, but a man couldn't survive on sex alone. This week had been both physically and emotionally draining—every time he had seen one of the newbies at Tosh's workstation or in Owen's medical bay he felt his heart clench awkwardly.

Ianto sighed and closed his eyes. Every time Winstone snapped at him he had an Owen flashback, and every time Robert or Jenny said 'surge' or 'energy' he felt a sudden rush of loss for Tosh. Three times this week he had ended up in messy, hysterical tears on the floor of the archives over stupid mundane things like Henriett accidentally using Owen's mug and Winstone calling him 'Nothing more than a glorified tea-boy'.

Ianto was at least eighty percent sure that Jack hadn't noticed, although it was hard to tell with Jack, but he was one hundred percent sure that Gwen was completely oblivious; if she had even the slightest suspicion that he was upset she would have swept in and tried to smother him with compassion.

The talk he had with Robert, had been somewhat therapeutic, and, thankfully, had not ended in tears—literally or figuratively.

The drinks arrived and Ianto gave the barmaid a weak smile, and, clutching two bottles in each hand, he returned to their table. The scene was much less tense than the one he had left. Jack was talking to Winstone about military protocol and the seasoned medic was listening with a look that closely rivalled hero-worship on his face; Henriett was delicately sipping a cocktail whilst listening to Gwen give her pointers on a Cardiff wedding. Robert, Rhys and Jenny had engaged in a heated debate over who was going to win the next Six Nations, their support lay with England, Wales and Scotland respectively.

Ianto slipped into the seat next to Jack and handed beers over to Robert, who thanked him politely, and Jenny who didn't so much as look at him, but might have muttered "Cheers, Jones."

Ianto put Jack's beer down, just out of reach of his hands, which were gesturing wildly, as he recounted some heroic battle for Winstone. Ianto watched him as he sipped on his own beer, then looked at Winstone's reaction. If Ianto hadn't been ninety-nine percent positive that Winstone was the kind of man who would take affront to any question of his sexuality, he might have thought that Winstone was getting ready to jump Jack. Still, Jack had that effect on pretty much everyone.

Ianto sat staring at Jack, without really seeing him, not hearing the conversations around him, lost in his own rather morose thoughts, until a finger in his ribs brought him back to reality. "Hmmmm?"

"I said, I need a little support here, Ianto. Who is going to win the Six Nations?" Rhys asked an imploring look on his face.

Ianto glanced from Rhys' hopeful face, to the expectant look on Robert's, and the resigned one on Jenny's. "Ireland."

"What!"

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Standing outside in the rain five pints later, Ianto can't help but lean into Jack's warmth a little as they share an umbrella.

He knows he shouldn't be doing this right here right now in front of Rhys and Gwen and four people they barely know, in front of a gang of men who'd probably smash his head in if they suspected he was gay, but he's cold and wet and more than a little drunk, Tosh and Owen are dead, and he just can't bring himself to care.

Jack seems surprised but not displeased with this uncharacteristic display of affection and puts an arm around Ianto's shoulders in a way that is intimate for them but could easily be misunderstood as a steadying grip to anyone who doesn't know them.

Ianto looks around somewhat blearily at the sound of a commotion and finds Robert and Rhys trying to stop Winstone from falling off the kerb. If Ianto was more drunk he might laugh aloud at the fact that the older man is completely and utterly pissed off his face, but Ianto is not quite that drunk, so he settles for giggling into Jack's coat.

Gwen manages to procure a taxi bus from somewhere and Ianto is impressed, in a detached sort of way, that Gwen has the skills needed to hail a taxi seeing how she can't make a cup of coffee or order a pizza or use spell check. Ianto thinks sometimes that he may be a mean drunk.

The eight of them pile into the taxi, trying to make it look like Winstone is slightly sober, which is nearly impossible as he is slumped between two burly men and his feet are dragging slightly. Ianto gets in and sits by the window, cracking it open a tad to feel the wind on his face; Jack gets in beside him and lays an warm hand on his knee. Rhys climbs in next pulling Winstone with him, as Gwen distracts the taxi driver with cheerful chatter and her cleavage. Robert follows and the three of them sit facing Jack and Ianto who are joined on their side by Jenny.

Gwen, her cleavage and Henriett are left to sit in the front with the driver. Ianto doesn't envy them; sitting in the front seat with the taxi driver had always left him feeling uncomfortable and ineloquent. After "Been busy?" and "What time you on 'til?", conversation quickly dried up.

Jack leans forward to direct the taxi driver to take them to Winstone's first but he seems to realise that he has no idea where any of the newbies were staying as he gives Ianto a questioning look. Ianto blinks blearily before he replys, "The Novotel, Schooner Way." Jack grins before reiterating the information to the driver.

The drive to the hotel was silent and Ianto spent his time fuzzily watching the three people opposite him. Rhys seemed content sitting watching the city pass by, humming to himself—The Sterephonics if Ianto wasn't mistaken, and he was pretty sure he wasn't; Kelly Jones was the first guy he'd ever fancied when he was a teenager.

Winstone in the middle seat seemed to be a little more aware; his head had stopped lolling against his chest and he was squinting over at Jack, every so often he'd raise a hand as if to touch him, but withdrew each time, looking from his hand to Jack and back again—_he's either a really spaced drunk or Jack's pheromones really did a number on him._

Robert, or Robbie, as Jenny liked to call him, was sitting against the other window; he too was watching the city pass by but without Rhys' happy tipsiness His face was serious and he kept darting glances at Rhys and at Ianto and Jack when he thought they weren't looking. When he caught Ianto staring he blushed and looked out the window again, his pale face reflecting the orange glow of the streetlights. More than once his gaze lingered on Jack's hand on Ianto's knee, but Jack seemed disinclined to move it and Ianto was disinclined to care.

The taxi dropped the four recruits off at the hotel, and Winstone was almost able to walk on his own, requiring only a little help from Robert when negotiating the steps. Gwen joined the others in the back as Jack shouted, "See you Monday!" Ianto felt he should argue the fact that they never got weekends off but his tongue felt thick and he didn't seem to be able to get his mouth to form the words.

Gwen and Rhys were dropped at their flat next and Ianto and Jack waited until they had stumbled through the front door until Jack told the taxi man to take them to Ianto's flat. Ianto let his heavy head fall onto Jack's shoulder when he felt his neck could no longer comfortable support its weight.

Jack shifted and moved his arm around Ianto's shoulders letting his head rest comfortably against the hollow of his neck. Ianto closed his eyes in an effort to shake the muffled, disconnected feeling that had wrapped around his head.

He hated being drunk. Absolutely positively _hated_ it. Ianto had been drunk four times in his entire life: the first was in Secondary school when his mother had been having a particularly bad month and he had tried to escape for just one day—he had ended up vomiting in the park with old ladies 'tutting' at him.

The second time had been his first week of University, Fresher's week; the need to fit in had made him accept more vodka than he had technically been comfortable drinking, and he had ended up flat on his back in someone's sitting room with people walking over him.

The third time had been with Lisa; celebrating a promotion that she had received at Torchwood London. He hadn't meant to get drunk but Lisa had thought it would be funny and gave him a couple of refills when he wasn't looking. The next morning he had been hangover and as pissed as hell. He hadn't said anything to her, though, just made cheese toasties—burning Lisa's slightly more than she liked it—and moaned passive aggressively about the amount of lime scale in her kettle. He forgave her, though, he always did. That night they went camping.

The last time had been when Jack had suspended him, after Lisa died. He had went home and drank as much of a bottle of whisky as he could before his coordination dropped off and the glass shattered; he woke in a pool of vomit and broken glass and had cut his hands when he had tried to get up.

It wasn't the vomiting or the hangovers that made Ianto shy away from alcohol; it was the lack of_control_.

Ianto had a thousand little rituals everyday that he could control from paperwork to archiving, making sure that all unused plug sockets were turned off, keeping the TV volume on an even number, alphabetising DVD's, books, CD's, planning and rehearsing and preparing for all types of scenarios in his mind and on paper.

Ianto like to be organised and in control. Alcohol stripped that control from him and left him open and vulnerable. It wasn't a feeling he actively sought out much.

Jack shifted slightly and Ianto realised that they were back at his flat, the others had left them to pay—typical, and Jack would try and slip it into the business accounts citing morale or teambuilding.

Ianto followed Jack from the taxi, thanking the driver—being a bit drunk was no reason to be rude—and weaved his way to the front door, Jack opened the door and let Ianto precede him, walking behind in case Ianto stumbled on the stairs.

Once in the door Ianto went straight to the bedroom, ignoring any voices in his head or coming from Jack that said he should have some water or milk or orange juice or whatever today's cure for a hangover was. Flopping onto the bed fully dressed, Ianto attempted to crawl under the sheets but only managed to make them bunch up on the bed.

Ianto looked up at a laugh and saw Jack leaning against the doorway smiling at him fondly. "You're so cute when you're drunk."

"I'm not drunk."

"Only people who are very drunk ever say that they aren't."

"That's crazy! What about people who are actually not drunk, when they say they're not drunk, they're not drunk, so how can they be drunk?"

Jack sat down on the side of the bed and started to pull Ianto's shoes off. "That doesn't make any sense, Ianto"

"It's perfectly logical, Jack."

"Drunk logic." Jack said pulling Ianto's shirt over his head without undoing the buttons.

"Not drunk." Ianto said as he flopped back against the pillows.

"Of course not." Jack soothed, undoing Ianto's belt.

Ianto didn't answer; he just lay there watching as Jack pulled his trousers down and left them on the ground in a heap. He frowned. "They're going to get all creased."

"Then they'll get creased," Jack said flippantly and he kicked off his boots and made fast work of getting out of his own clothes, "Just get some sleep."

Ianto tried to crawl under the covers again and this time he was successful, he felt the bed dip as Jack clambered in the other side, "Night Jack."

"Night Ianto."

Ianto giggled into his pillow, "Night John Boy."

"What?"

"Night, Mary-Ellen."

Jack groaned.

"Night, Grandma."

"Ianto."

"Jack."

"Sleep."

"Yessir."


	9. Chapter 9

Robert reported for work at 9 am on Monday morning and was unsurprised to find both Ianto and Jack already there

Robert reported for work at 9 am on Monday morning and was unsurprised to find both Ianto and Jack already there.

He was starting to have suspicions about those two.

They were always last to leave and the first to arrive, which could be innocent—they were the two most senior officers after all. But there were other little things that had led Robert to the tenuous conclusion that Jack and Ianto might not actually be going home at night, but staying here—together.

There was the way that they seemed to talk without words during meetings in the conference room, the small knowing smiles that they sometimes shared, the way that even the tenacious Gwen left Ianto to deal with Jack when he was being particularly stubborn.

There was the way that Ianto took the piss out of Jack and, in return, Jack's lack of reaction—Robert didn't think that Jack would let anyone else get away with that kind of teasing. And Jack always got his coffee last, in his office, with a biscuit and a smile and often a chat. The most Robert could hope for was a bland smile and the odd soggy digestive.

And then there was the most suspicious thing of all—the deleted CCTV footage. Robert had noticed it the first time that he had logged into the system and done a routine diagnostic. The footage had been very selective in its deletion; it was mostly of Jack's office after hours, but sometimes included the hothouse, conference room and archives.

Robert had gone straight to Ianto and Gwen, fearful that Torchwood could have a hacker or some sort of an incursion—a level five, or was it a level seven?—he was still getting to grips with the manual.

Gwen had taken one look at the file with the times and locations on it and burst into spontaneous giggles which she unsuccessfully tried to disguise as coughing. Ianto had given her a concerned look before taking the file and promising to look into it.

Ianto had come back to Robert the next day to tell him that Jack had been running a systems diagnostic that took out the cameras but that nothing untoward had happened. Robert had been satisfied, if a little horrified with Jack's view of security, but now he was staring to think it was something else.

On Friday night, the way Ianto had leant on Jack, the way Jack had braced him; it could be seen as just friendship. God knows, the Torchwood Three staff were close, insanely tight-knit for work colleagues, but Robert thought that Jack and Ianto's relationship went a bit deeper.

It was the fond way that Jack had looked at Ianto, the complete trust in Ianto's face; Jack's affectionate hand on Ianto's knee.

They were lovers.

And Robert had a problem.

Jack Harkness had been flirting with him, had propositioned him in his interview, and had practically molested him during his weapons training. Ianto had to be told—it wasn't right for Ianto to be unaware of what was happening. Robert had no doubt that Ianto knew Jack flirted with everything that moved—you couldn't breathe within a hundred meters of the guy without getting hit on. But flirting and openly propositioning a perspective employee for sex were two different things.

Robert took his opportunity to take Ianto aside after the others had gotten in and Ianto had dispensed the morning coffee. Ianto was feeding Myfanwy as Gwen sat backwards on a chair and chatted to him about whatever she had got up to with Rhys at the weekend.

Robert walked over cautiously, unwilling to break up a moment of precious normality, and cleared his throat. Gwen looked up and smiled sleepily at him. "Good morning, Robert, how was your weekend?"

Robert, who was internally trying to think of ways to broach this rather delicate subject with Ianto, was momentarily startled by the question. "Morning, Gwen, yeah; it was fine. Em... Could I talk to Ianto for a minute….alone?"

Gwen gave Ianto a look that Robert couldn't quite decipher but stood and went back towards her desk only throwing glances in their direction every few seconds.

Ianto removed the marigold rubber gloves that he had been wearing to feed Myfanwy, leisurely, dropping them into a black plastic bucket at his feet. He straightened slowly and gave Robert a friendly smile. "What can I do for you, Robert?"

Robert glanced around nervously; Doctors Winstone and Thompson were in the autopsy bay crossing scalpels over who got to dissect the Weevil that Jack and Ianto had been forced to kill last night. Jenny was wandering through the Hub, shouting loudly down a Bluetooth earpiece to a man that Robert assumed was Archie the head of Torchwood Two, because he had heard the phrase "Semi-alcoholic, free-loading bastard!" a few times. Gwen was sitting at her desk trying, rather unsuccessfully, to pretend that she wasn't spying on Robert and Ianto. Robert couldn't see Jack but the Captain had spent most of his morning prowling around his office drinking coffee and occasionally staring out the glass wall, watching the team work.

"Can we talk? Somewhere more private, I mean."

Ianto looked amused and slightly confused. "Certainly," He glanced around the Hub and frowned. "Shall we go upstairs?"

"To the tourist office?"

"Why not?" Ianto shrugged and made his way towards the cog door, but was stopped by a sudden urgent beeping from Gwen's computer.

Robert jumped hastily out of the way as Ianto ran past him to where Gwen was sitting at her computer terminal. Jack emerged from his office and Winstone and Henriett popped their heads out from the autopsy bay, scalpels in hand. Jenny hung up abruptly on Archie and stomped over to where Ianto, Gwen and Robert had gathered.

"What is it, Gwen?" Jack's voice cut through the charged silence.

"Police report. Someone dressed in an alien costume is doing magic tricks in the city centre." Gwen grinned. "Without a busking permit."

"Someone dressed as an alien, or an alien?" Ianto asked leaning over Gwen's shoulder to read the report for himself.

"Better safe than sorry." Jack declared, marching out the door of his office and pausing long enough for Ianto to help him into his coat. That was another thing; the way Ianto's hand lingered a fraction too long at the nape of Jack's neck.

"Ianto, Robert; you're on house-sitting duty. Gwen, Sam, Jenny; with me. Henriett; you get to work on that dissection." Jack gave a dramatic swing of his coat as he left and Henriett gave Winstone a smug smile as he reluctantly removed his surgical gloves.

When the cog door had rolled closed behind Gwen, and Henriett had retreated to her corpse Robert turned to Ianto once more. "Ianto."

"Hmm?" Ianto's eyes were on the CCTV as he watched the alien/busker juggle five brightly coloured balls in front of a crowd of shoppers.

"Can we have that talk?"

Ianto frowned as the busker bowed extravagantly and held out one of his tentacles to gesture to an open suitcase at his feet.

"Ianto."

"Yes, of course." Ianto turned. "Would you like some coffee?"

Robert resisted the urge to roll his eyes: "Yeah, sure; this is_ important_, Ianto."

Ianto's face went serious in an instant and he looked at Robert intently for a moment before reaching some kind of internal conclusion. "We can use the conference room."

Once in the conference room Robert found that he was at a loss. He had no idea what to say. How exactly were you supposed to phrase: _Our boss, who I think you've been sleeping with, even though it's none of my business, has been putting the moves on me_? It was a bit awkward.

Ianto was sitting opposite him looking serious and professional; there was a legal pad in front of him an expensive looking pen was sitting perfectly perpendicular to it, and his hands were folded in his lap.

Robert cleared his throat, looked at Ianto, looked away, cleared his throat again, shifted in his seat, tugged at the neck of his t-shirt, glanced at Ianto, cleared his throat.

"Would you like a glass of water?"

Robert jerked his head up sharply to meet Ianto's eyes, but there was nothing mocking in the other man's gaze; he still looked depressingly serious.

Robert shook his head. "No, no thanks, it's just... this is a bit hard to say."

Ianto nodded empathetically. "Of course; well, take all the time you need."

Robert took a deep breath and decided to just bite the bullet. "I know you and Jack are sleeping together and I'm so sorry but Jack's been flirting with me and I didn't do anything about it but in my interview he asked me did I want to have sex with him and I'm so sorry Ianto and I said no but he's still being really flirty."

Ianto took a moment to take this in calmly and only looked slightly overwhelmed by the torrent of words that had just spewed from Robert's mouth. He nodded once, and then placed his hands, palm down, on the table.

"Jack's flirting with you?"

Robert felt his cheeks colour. "Yes, but--"

"And it's making you uncomfortable?"

"Well, yes but--"

Ianto smiled. "I'll take care of it, Robert" He made to stand and Robert followed suit.

"But aren't you and Jack--" Ianto raised an eyebrow. "You know."

Ianto seemed to think about it for a moment. "Yes, we are."

Robert frowned. "And it doesn't bother you how he acts?"

"He's Jack. The flirting, the innuendo, the completely inappropriate behaviour, the inability to do paperwork. That's who Jack is. It's who he was when I got involved with him; I have no desire to try to make him change."

Robert nodded, that made sense. "That's what happened with my ex; she wanted kids, and I didn't — guess I thought she'd change. She probably thought I would."

Ianto nodded sympathetically. "Yeah, same with my last girlfriend. I guess I was hoping she'd change too. That she loved me enough to change. But in the end no one ever really changes, do they?"

Robert shook his head morosely and was startled when Ianto exhaled loudly and gave a short laugh. Robert shot him a curious look.

"I thought you were going to say that you were thinking about leaving." Ianto admitted with a grin.

Robert shook his head. "Nope, just your average, 'my boss is sexually harassing me' chat. I don't want to leave."

"Good--"

"IANTO!"

Both men started at Henriett's yell, and then broke for the door at the same time, Ianto reached it first and yanked it open. Robert looked over his shoulder; Henriett was standing by the computers looking up at them, the chunky plastic goggles making her eyes look huge, her hands covered in blood and a smudge of crimson on her cheek.

"What is it?" Ianto called down to her.

"Jack's on the comms, wants to talk to you."

Ianto made his way down the stairs and into Jack's office, where Robert assumed he'd left his earpiece that morning. Robert followed at a more sedate pace; by the time he reached Jack's door, Ianto was mid-conversation.

"Is she all right?" Ianto's face was pale and harried as he waited for the reply from Jack at the other side of the comms. Finally he nodded. "Okay, Jack, see you in ten." He brought up a hand to switch off his earpiece.

"What happened?" Robert spun to see Henriett behind him; she still had blood on her cheek.

"Gwen took a knock, but she seems fine." Ianto smirked. "It wasn't an alien, just a really good prosthetics job. They'll be back in ten minutes; I'm going to put on the coffee; Henriett, if you could get an ice pack ready for Gwen."

Robert knew from the way that Jack Harkness stormed into the Hub eight minutes later that he was in a _very bad mood_. There was a number of things that gave him away; the murderous look on his face, the way he ignored Ianto's gift of coffee, the way he strode straight into his office and slammed the door so hard that the glass wall rattled ominously.

Robert looked over as the cog door rolled open again and Jenny walked through with an arm linked with one of Gwen's; they were speaking quietly together. Ianto went over to join them and touched Gwen lightly on the elbow as he directed her towards the sofa behind the computer desks.

Robert hastily moved the magazines and miscellaneous space junk that had collected on the sofa; Gwen shot him a grateful look as she sat. She looked up annoyed and shoved Ianto's hands away: "Stop fussing, Ianto, I'm fine. I only grazed my knee."

"What happened?" Robert asked as Henriett handed Gwen an ice pack. "Where's Winstone?" Gwen's face darkened at the mention of the older man and she exchanged a guarded look with Jenny.

"Well," Jenny began, taking a deep breath, "the guy wasn't an alien but he thought we were the police, Winstone went to grab him and missed—that guy has a really crap reaction time by the way—the busker ran off and pushed Gwen over on his way."

Ianto nodded slowly. "Okay, but that doesn't explain why Jack is in such a foul mood."

"He told Winstone to leave it, Winstone ignored him, I got a little knock; Jack overreacted. He's a bit tense, Ianto." Gwen said softly.

"Where is Winstone now?" Ianto asked, "Please tell me Jack didn't shoot him," he added with a groan.

Jenny smirked. "Don't worry, Jones, he didn't get any blood on your precious upholstery. Jack made Sam unload the SUV. I think Jack needed him out of the way before he_ did_ shoot him."

At that Winstone came out of the garage through the door behind the armoury and spotted them. He paused for a second before making his way towards the workstations, devouring half a packet of polo mints as he did so.

Jack came tearing out of his office as soon as Winstone's foot hit the metal grating with a thunderous expression on his face. Gwen's eyes widened and Robert felt Ianto tense beside him. This wasn't going to be pretty. Ianto nudged Robert subtly, then turned on his heel and made towards the coffee machine. Robert took the hint and followed Ianto down to the lower level of the Hub.

Gwen was looking like a deer caught in headlights as her eyes darted from side to side—looking for an escape route. Jenny and Henriett didn't seem to have sensed the danger because they were chatting about which sales were on in the city centre. Winstone, however, was well aware of his impending dressing down and stood to attention, facing Jack head on.

Robert and Ianto watched form a safe distance as Jack opened up on Winstone, "What the hell did you think you were doing?" Jack snapped.

Winstone paled. "I--"

"I'm in charge of this team, not you, Dr Winstone, is that understood?"

"Yes, sir, it's just that I'm used to giving orders--"

"Well, you'd better learn how to take them," Jack leaned in and his voice softened until it was little more than a violent whisper, "This is your one and only order: either you fall into line or you're out of here. Understood?"

Winstone looked suitably chastised but snapped to attention like a good soldier. "Yes, sir!"

Jack straightened and let his eyes sweep over each of them coming top rest on Winstone once more, "That goes for all of you, you follow orders or you leave; I will not tolerate insubordination in the field. It'll get someone killed!"

Jack stormed back into his office without another word; Robert let out a long breath and turned to Ianto, expecting a witty aside. Ianto, however, was preoccupied staring after Jack's retreating back. Without a word to Robert, Ianto followed Jack into his office and closed the door softly behind him.

Robert sighed, _it looks like there isn't going to be any coffee in the immediate future._


	10. Chapter 10

Ianto woke up at exactly 6am, his internal clock waking him precisely on the hour; despite the lack of light in Jack's subterranean bedroom. The first thing Ianto noticed was that he was cramped, extremely cramped. All his muscles had been tensed during the night to stop himself from falling out of Jack's narrow single bed.

The second thing he noticed was that he was unable to move. Jack had fallen asleep with an arm tight around Ianto's chest, like a seatbelt, in order to stop Ianto from tumbling out in the middle of the night. Jack's arm was heavy as his body was relaxed in sleep and it was showing no signs of loosening.

Ianto sighed and settled back down against the now too warm pillow; Jack needed all the sleep he could get these days, no sense in disturbing him until it was absolutely necessary. The last few weeks had been a trial, but they had made it through without any serious accidents. Even though Jack, for some inexplicable reason, liked to tell new recruits that he didn't sleep Ianto knew for a fact that Jack needed only slightly less sleep than he did.

Today was Thursday, so they only had one more day with the newbies. One more day to decide whom to hire. Personally, Ianto couldn't give a damn who they hired so long as Winstone wasn't one of them. Ianto was beginning to think that Jack felt the same way; the incident with the busker on Monday had been a major manifestation of insubordination that had been culminating all week.

It started out as small things: not saying thank you for coffee, trying to get into the secure computer archives without the proper passwords, making snide comments about everyone and everything when he thought Ianto was out of earshot. No, if Ianto Jones had anything to do about it, Dr Samuel Winstone would be Retconned and dumped in a bed-sit in Aberystwyth.

Ianto shifted slightly to move the weight of Jack's arm further up his chest as it had been creating a worrying amount of pressure on his rather full bladder. He knew that he really should be getting up. Martha was coming today to give the recruits physicals, and her train would be arriving at 8 am. She said she was going to bring her fiancé, Tom, with her to 'show him the sights of Cardiff'. Ianto still hadn't worked out if she was being sarcastic.

Just in case she was being serious, he had booked her the best suite that Cardiff's finest hotel had to offer; it was, after all, the least he could do for a visiting UNIT representative. Especially when she'd gone to all that trouble to get that beret….

Ianto shifted again and crossed his legs in an attempt to staunch the urgent need to empty his bladder.

"Ianto, lie still or I'll be forced to pin you to the bed." Jack's sleep fogged voice made Ianto freeze. For six seconds.

"Jack, let go. I have to use the bathroom."

"You're not going to wet the bed, are you?" Jack asked voice croaky from sleep.

"Not if you let me go." Ianto squirmed, but Jack's grip only tightened.

"What's in it for me?" Jack seemed infinitely more alert than he had thirty seconds ago.

"How about you don't have a bed full of urine?" Ianto rolled his eyes and tried to lever himself out of bed by pushing against Jack's chest.

"I've had worse."

"How about a cup of coffee?" Ianto asked bringing his knees up so he could kick against Jack's stomach.

"You'll get me one anyway."

"How about a cup of non-decaf coffee without any suspicious bodily fluids in it?" Ianto snarled as he strained against Jack's hold.

"Done." Jack said and let go of Ianto, without warning sending the younger man tumbling out of bed and onto the cool concrete.

Ianto took the time of curse colourfully before making a bee-line for the toilet.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

At 8.23, Ianto Jones was still waiting in Cardiff Central Station for the train from London to arrive. Ianto had never liked the public transport system in Britain, to be frank, it was a bit of a joke. It was unpredictable, badly organised and annoyingly sporadic.

Ianto sighed as he adjusted his stance. He leant back against the wall and glanced once more at the arrivals board, which proclaimed that the train from London had in fact arrived, twenty three minutes ago—it hadn't.

Ianto felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and he pulled it out, one new message; from Martha—

_Train is late. Bloody public transport. : / Should be there in five, see you soon. Martha xx._

Ianto smiled at that and went to get some coffee from the nearby stall and some chocolate. Martha liked chocolate with her coffee. But very specific chocolate with specific types of coffee depending on the situation and level of crisis. When Owen died, it was a latte with extra sugar and a Galaxy. During that business with the Pharm, it was espresso with a Time Out. And the end of a long day, when all anyone wanted to do was go home and sleep, Martha liked a cup of tea with one spoon of sugar and some semi-skimmed milk and a Kit Kat. Stressful train journeys, however, required a whole new approach—cappuccino and a Drifter, so that the caramel and chocolate would melt and soak into the wafer.

Ianto had just made it back to his leaning spot when a large influx of people from the platforms indicated that the train from London had finally arrived. He saw Martha almost immediately; she was walking purposefully through the crowd looking confident and determined. Martha as wearing a black trouser suit and a dark red top; her hair was scraped back and she looked every bit the consummate professional.

Ianto straightened and smoothed down his tie—this was Doctor Martha Jones; UNIT representative and former companion of the Doctor—the least she deserved was his utmost courtesy and a well turned out escort. Ianto had taken special care in choosing his outfit for meeting the indomitable Dr Jones: a sharp black suit, white shirt and the black and red striped tie that he hadn't worn since Tosh and Owen had died. Still, it was a special occasion and Martha deserved the effort.

Ianto was able to pinpoint the moment that Martha spotted him because her slightly flustered scowl disappeared and she beamed, looking years younger as she did so. Ianto moved forward a few steps as she quickened her pace to a trot and enveloped him in a hug.

Ianto bent slightly to return the embrace, noticing that Martha was not only alone but had a bag that looked substantially bigger than an overnight bag. Ianto pulled back but Martha kept a hold of his upper arms to stop him from moving away. She studied his face intently for a moment before frowning.

"You look tired."

"Thank you, Dr Jones," Ianto replied dryly, "and I must say that you are looking your usual radiant self this morning."

Martha broke into a grin and swiped at his head. Then the grin dropped and she was sober once more: "Seriously, though, Ianto; how are you doing?"

Ianto shrugged, which in itself was difficult due to Martha's grip on his upper arms. "We're coping. Moving on. Rebuilding."

Martha nodded and gave his arms a final squeeze before letting go. Ianto handed her the coffee and chocolate and she gave a little squeal of delight. Ianto picked up Martha's bag and they started towards the exit.

"So, you decided not to show Tom the sights of Cardiff, then?"

Martha pulled a face and spoke through a mouthful of chocolate. "He had to work. He's been looking after this kid with Cystic Fibrosis for the last two years and it looks like the kid only has a few more days. He wanted to be there for the family."

Ianto gave a world-weary sigh. "That's the problem with nice guy hero-types. They're always saving the world or being supportive of terminally ill patients. It leaves no time for meeting friends. You should try getting engaged to someone heartless and cruel—that way he won't be getting detained doing nice stuff." They reached his car and he moved to the boot to put Martha's bag in.

Martha grinned up at him. "Yeah, I was thinking about doing a classified ad. _'Time-travelling saviour of the world seeks cold, unaffected man for romantic alien hunts and long-term companionship. Do-gooders need not apply.'_"

Ianto laughed as he closed the boot. "I also noticed that your bag is a little on the large side."

"Those observational skills, Mr Jones, they're quite an asset."

"Honed from years of stating the blindingly obvious to more qualified superiors, I'm sure, Ma'am." Ianto replied with a smirk as he opened the passenger seat door for Martha.

"Well, thing is, Ianto, I thought I might stay for a while. Hunt some Weevils, catch up with Jack, meet the new recruits. Anyway, your doctor's going to need a bit of training, so I thought I'd stick around and lend a hand," Martha added defensively as Ianto slid into the driver's seat.

Ianto held up his hands in a placating manner. "I was only asking, Martha; we'd be delighted to have you."

"Good." Martha said sullenly but Ianto could see that she was trying hard not to smile. "So what are they like?" At Ianto's puzzled glance she clarified: "The new guys."

"They're…. a lot of hard work. You'll…like them."

Ianto's uncertainty must have shown on his face because Martha looked sceptical. _You're slipping, Jones; time was you could hide a Cyberman in the basement for months without anyone cottoning on. Now you can't even tell a white lie convincingly._

Ianto wasn't sure if he was dismayed or delighted by that realisation.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ianto was in the conference room with Gwen and Jack discussing the newbies who were undergoing their physicals with Martha. Martha's reunion with Jack had included much shouting, hugging and grinning. The newbies had been polite but taken aback; the presence of someone outside their normal sphere of influence in the Hub had thrown them a bit, and Dr Winstone and Henriett had seemed particularly wary—perhaps suspecting another rival. One who obviously had an affectionate relationship with their prospective boss.

Ianto had made a copy of each of the applicant's files for Gwen and Jack and one for Martha, who was going to be helping them with their decision on choosing a doctor. Jack had decided after much debate that the running was too close, and in order for them to choose a unequivocal test was needed. Ianto had taken this to heart and had devised a testing system for the prospective employees.

Martha was going to quiz the two doctors: she would give them hypothetical scenarios based on Owen's case files and her own experiences and see how they responded to novel experiences. The two technicians would be tested by Ianto and Jack. The applicants would be given a piece of alien tech from the archives and the team would observe how well they managed to categorise it, see if they were able to guess what it was used for and see if they could get it to work.

The first person to be tested was Jenny as she had finished her physical first. Ianto smiled at her as she entered the conference room and she gave him her customary wry smirk in return. "Good afternoon, Jenny: I trust that you are well."

"Cut the crap, Jones, I just spent thirty minutes being poked and prodded by an absolute sadist. I know that something's going on, and, as it's decision time tomorrow, I'm guessing it's something big." Jenny looked past Ianto to fix Jack with a level look.

"Okay, Jenny, this is a piece of alien technology," Jack said gesturing to a small unremarkable metal box sitting in the middle of the conference table. "It was found fourteen months ago in a field in Rhoose. You have access to all the equipment and archives in the Hub. If you need anything that you don't have clearance for, ask Ianto. I want a report with your findings on my desk at the end of the day. Go."

Jenny stood still for a moment, perhaps trying to work out if Jack was taking the piss—the applicants had certainly never seen him this serious before. She glanced at Ianto, who gave her an encouraging nod, before picking up the box and going to her computer. Ianto looked out the glass door.

"She's already typing like a woman possessed," he said, smiling slightly.

"She just picked it up," Jack said somewhat sadly.

"Yep." Ianto replied without turning around.

"Without knowing what it was."

"It could be worse, Jack, I've done worse; we all have." Gwen argued.

Without turning around Ianto could picture the perfectly serious expression on Jack's face when he spoke. "We can't afford that kind of carelessness anymore, Gwen. I'm not losing either of you any time in the near future, and certainly not due to some sloppy mistake."

Ianto turned around just as Jack placed a piece of technology that was identical to the one they had given Jenny on the table. Jack looked up and nodded to him. "Get Robert."

Ianto nodded and left the room, leaving Gwen to argue with Jack about how she wasn't made of glass and how she didn't need protection. She still bothered to argue; Ianto had given up arguing after the first few weeks. Jack was going to be protective, and that was that. But Jack's protection wasn't going to be much good. The evidence was in the archives and the morgue; Torchwood died young, and there was nothing Jack or anyone else could do about it.

Ianto found Robert sitting on the threadbare sofa watching Jenny type whilst holding a bandage over his arm. He was looking extremely sorry for himself.

"Robert," Ianto said softly breaking into the older man's reverie. Robert looked up and gave Ianto a small smile. "Jack would like to see you."

Robert nodded and stood, still clutching his arm.

"Are you alright?" Ianto asked, and Robert looked at him blankly. "Your arm." Ianto clarified gesturing the clean white bandage.

"Dr Jones just tried to kill me with the biggest needle I've ever seen in my life. But, I'll just about muddle through, I think." He smiled a rather weak tremulous smile and Ianto rolled his eyes and groaned.

"Don't tell me you're afraid of needles."

"So what if I am?" Robert shot back defensively, "The job doesn't involve capturing needles, it's catching aliens, and I'm not afraid of those."

"What abut Tedranians? Their skin surface is seventy-five percent covered in needles." Ianto asked with a raised eyebrow as they climbed the steps to the conference room.

"Give me a heads up and I'll call in sick that day." Robert replied as he entered the conference room in front of Ianto.

Ianto smirked as he walked into the conference room Jack glared at him so he put on his serious face. Really, he knew better than to be joking around with the applicants when Jack was trying to be intimidating.

And Jack really was being intimidating. He was practically glowering at Robert, and Ianto was sure that someone had messed with the thermostat because the room was definitely colder than it had been when he left—although that could just be because Gwen and Jack were shooting each other dirty looks every few seconds.

"Robert, this is a piece of alien technology." Jack said, gesturing to a small unremarkable metal box sitting in the middle of the table. "It was found fourteen months ago in a field in Rhoose. You have access to all the equipment and archives in the Hub. If you need anything that you don't have clearance for, ask Ianto. I want a report with your findings on my desk at the end of the day. Go. Now."

Robert seemed a little put out at the rapid change in mood but adapted quickly. He turned to Ianto. "Ianto, do you have any forceps or anything I could use?"

"Why?" Ianto asked trying to look puzzled and evidently succeeding because Robert gave him a despairing look.

"I'm not picking that thing up! I actually listened to those lectures last week and for all I know there's sex pheromones in there. The last thing I want to see is Torchwood Three under the influence of sex pheromones."

Out of the corner of his eye Ianto could see Jack smirking and obviously biting his tongue. But he obliged and fetched a pair of forceps from the cabinet at the side of the room. Ianto had a feeling that when Robert said Torchwood Three he really meant Jack Harkness.

Ianto had talked to Jack about his flirting with the applicants, and at first Jack had just laughed at him—not really understanding the problem. But when Ianto had maintained that he was indeed serious, Jack had promised to lay off the flirting—at least until the new people got settled.

Robert took the forceps and approached the technology gingerly, picking it up slowly and handling it as if it was a bomb. Ianto, Jack and Gwen watched him without speaking as he left the room and cautiously started down the stairs to where Ianto's computer was; it had been assigned to Robert for the duration of the trials.

"Was that cautious enough for you, Jack?" Gwen asked tartly.

"Perfection." Jack said sitting back in his chair and lacing his fingers behind his head. "Absolute perfection."

"Jack," Ianto said warningly, "you promised. No sexual harassment."

"That's not what you said last night."

Gwen choked on her coffee.

Ianto ignored them both. "I'm going to check on Martha. Do either of you need anything?"

Jack shook his head as he thumped Gwen on the back in a way that was no doubt annoying and unnecessary. Ianto thought Gwen might have shaken her head too but it was hard to tell with Jack hammering on her back.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ianto found Martha in the medical bay with Doctors Winstone and Thompson, asking them questions and writing in a small notepad. Ianto stood at the top of the stairs and leant against the wall watching them.

This was a bit silly, he had to admit to himself. He was a grown man who couldn't set foot in a medical bay. It was just a room—just a room where one of his best friends had died. He could handle that.

Or could he? After his dad had died in his sleep in bed, Ianto had never set foot in his parents bedroom again; when his mother got sick, he moved her to a downstairs bedroom in order to take care of her. After Lisa's death, he hadn't been back into that room in the lower levels. He'd stood outside the door a few times looking in. Jack had found him once at three o clock in the morning shivering in a pair of boxers staring into that room but he hadn't said anything, just stared with him.

And now after Tosh dying in there, after washing her blood off the tiles (as well as he could) he couldn't make himself go into the medical bay. It really was silly.

Winstone's loud penetrating voice pulled him from his introspection.

"—get a blood gas and go from there."

Martha frowned and shook her head. "What if it cannot survive in our atmosphere?"

Winstone gave a noncommittal shrug, "Then we know something new about that species."

Martha nodded but Ianto could tell she wasn't happy with the answer. "Okay, Henriett, what conclusion would you come to if you found an alien that was growing despite mutilation?"

"What kind of mutilation?" Henriett asked, looking vaguely horrified. Ianto saw Winstone roll his eyes at her discomfort. _Smug bastard._

"Someone was cutting it up to sell as meat." Martha replied as tonelessly as possible, not looking up from Owen's notes.

Henriett swallowed thickly before visibly pulling herself together and think about it. "I'd say that if it's still growing the protein chains must be replenishing themselves despite the mutilation. That would give a theoretical unending supply of meat. If we understood how that worked we could feed the world."

Ianto nodded along with Martha, allowed himself a small, slightly bitter, smile and resisted the urge to say, "We could release a single." She was good, really good, almost brilliant in fact. Owen would have liked her. But he probably wouldn't have admitted it until it was too late. He could be a stubborn like that.

"Good." Martha said. "Samuel, you have a Weevil come in. Female. Violent and dangerous; she has already wounded one of your colleagues and has a visible life-threatening wound. What is your course of action?"

"Morphine." Winstone's answer was simple and direct.

"Excuse me?"

"I'd give her a fatal overdose of morphine; from what I've read in Dr Harper's notes it's a relatively peaceful way for them to go. They don't have a high resistance to opiates."

Martha nodded. "Okay, and Henriett, same scenario."

"It's a female and she's violent?" Henriett asked, Martha nodded. "I'd sedate her first, then I'd get an ultrasound to see if she was pregnant."

"A pregnant Weevil?" Winstone scoffed.

"Well, they hardly just spring out of the ground, Samuel."

Ianto fought against the urge to laugh as he pictured a Weevil sexual education class.

"That's fine. You two are done. You can go home. Jack will let you know his decision tomorrow morning; be here at 9am." And with that Martha dismissed them.

Ianto left Martha to it and went to the coffee machine to make her the greatest invention of the beverage world (in Martha's opinion anyway), a combination of chocolate and coffee—the almighty mocha.

From where he was standing, Ianto was enough in the shadows that Winstone obviously couldn't see him but close enough that he could hear the older doctor's low-pitched words.

"Who the hell does she think she is anyway? She's as bad as that stuck up sheep-shagger." Ianto smiled grimly at that rather concise description of his person. "I don't need a woman telling me what to do, and I certainly don't need that self-righteous little bitch telling me how to do my job."

Henriett's reply was somewhat cut off by the sound of blood rushing through his ears but Ianto was pretty sure she said. "After tomorrow I won't have to deal with you, your horrible sexism or your ridiculous brand of humour again; do me a favour, don't talk to me anymore."

Ianto took quick, firm strides and reached the cog door just in time to cut the two doctors off. "Dr Winstone, a word if you please," he said evenly, managing to suppress the tremor of rage that was threatening to spill over into his voice.

Winstone looked at him patronisingly, "Jones, if this is anything to do with coffee or filing it can wait until tomorrow. I have plans."

"Not anymore you don't. Captain Harkness would like to see you in his office."

Winstone grinned at Henriett. "Looks like you can get back to Cardiff General, sweetheart; the Captain has made his decision." And without waiting for Ianto Winstone made for Jack's office.

Henriett looked at Ianto imploringly, but he kept his face blank and his voice toneless lest the anger he was hastily compartmentalising took over. "Go home, Dr Thompson; we will see you at 9am to receive Captain Harkness' decision." Henriett gave a brisk nod and left through the cog door, leaving Ianto to follow Winstone into Jack's office.

When Ianto entered the office, he was faced with an angry Winstone standing in front of him, a confused Jack sitting behind the desk and an amused Martha sitting on the desk. Gwen must have slipped off home when it was quiet, and as far as Ianto knew the two technicians were in the conference room using the various assortment of scanners that Ianto had laid out there.

"What the hell is going on here, Jones?" Winstone growled.

"Shut up."

"What did you say to me, boy?"

"I said shut the hell up! And you'd do well to follow the orders of higher ranking officers, Dr Winstone." Ianto snapped. He looked up and saw all the other three giving him shocked looks, but Jack also looked concerned.

Ianto closed his eyes and took a breath. And another. And he thought calm, peaceful thoughts like that first cup of perfect coffee on a cold winter morning and the pattern on that blue tie of his that Jack particularly liked.

Ianto opened his eyes, looked straight at Jack and took another breath.

"I want him gone, Jack."

Jack visibly started, as did Winstone where he stood next to Ianto.

"What?"

"I want him gone." Ianto repeated calmly.

"You jumped up little bastard, what the hell gives you the right--"

"Enough!" Jack shouted, and Winstone shut his mouth with a snap. Jack stood and walked around the desk so that he was face to face with the doctor. Martha moved off the desk and took a couple of steps back to give Jack some room.

"No one speaks to my team like that. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

Jack turned to Ianto; his voice was quiet but his tone and expression demanded a truthful explanation. "Explain yourself, Ianto."

"Dr Winstone has been nothing but verbally abusive, disrespectful and insubordinate since he started here." Ianto said, not breaking eye contact with Jack, "It is my belief that he is incapable of following orders or showing his co-workers even a modicum of respect."

Jack gave a slow thoughtful nod and turned to Winstone. "Dr Winstone, would you like to comment on these claims?"

"Jones is overreacting; obviously he can't take a joke--"

"A joke?" Ianto cut in with a disparaging laugh, "In regards to Ms Cooper he has said, and I quote; 'the only thing wider than the gap in her teeth is the gap between her ears.' In regards to Dr Thompson 'It's not right for a woman like that to be working in medicine; she's breeding stock.'" Ianto's lip curled slightly as he spoke, and he noticed the twin looks of outrage and disgust on Martha and Jack's faces.

"During a conversation with Miss McGregor; 'The only thing the Scots ever got right were deep fried Mars-bars and heroin; that way they can cull the working classes before they can procreate.' Speaking about Mr Carmichael; 'It's lucky that kid's good with computers, maybe he can get himself some cyber-sex, because he certainly isn't going to get it any other way.' Do I need to continue, sir?"

"No, thank you, Ianto; that's enough." Jack looked vaguely shell-shocked and, for once, a little lost for words.

Winstone, however, was not thus challenged and he rounded on Ianto: "What the hell have you been doing, skulking around in the shadows, spying on me?" He hissed, stepping closer to the archivist. "Well, fuck the lot of you. Why the fuck would I want to work with an anal-retentive, sexually frustrated little wanker like you anyway?"

Ianto sidestepped just as Winstone swung a rather sloppy fist at him. Jack reached forward and grabbed the doctor's arm, swinging him around and planting him face first onto the desk. Jack twisted Winstone's arm up behind his back and leaning close he whispered menacingly in his ear.

"Number one, no one insults my team like that. Number two, no one touches my team. Number three: there is no way that he's sexually frustrated, Sammy-boy." Jack stood and yanked Winstone up with him. "Ianto, get the Retcon."

"Jack, you can't just Retcon him." Martha protested as Ianto got the box from a secure drawer in Jack's desk.

"I don't see how we have choice in the matter, Martha, I really don't." Jack's steady gaze never left Winstone's face and his words were spit out like venom. "This excuse for a human being is the type who would hold a grudge, and he probably still has some buddies from his UNIT days. I'm not risking anyone on this team to his petty vengeance."

Ianto came to stand beside Jack with a glass of water and two level six Retcon pills; he handed Jack his Webley. Jack cocked the gun and held it levelled at Winstone's face. "Take the pills."

"You going to shoot me if I don't?" Winstone's voice was disbelieving and a bit mocking.

"Yes."

Winstone broke eye contact with Jack first, looking down to the pills that were sitting in Ianto's outstretched palm.

"How much will I remember?"

"You'll remember up until two weeks ago. You'll remember us and Torchwood but not where the Hub is and not anything you did here." Ianto answered calmly. "You'll just think that you didn't get through the interviews."

"What if you get it wrong? What if I forget everything?" Winstone was looking a bit scared now, and Ianto started to feel a bit sorry for him. But just a bit.

"I won't get it wrong."

Winstone held his gaze for a few seconds before nodding and taking the pills. He swallowed them both at once, downing the entire glass of water and obligingly opening his mouth to let Ianto make sure he'd swallowed them.

"What are you going to say happened?" Martha asked as Jack and Ianto settled the nearly unconscious Winstone onto the couch.

Jack shrugged, but Ianto smirked a little; "Drunken fortnight in Aberystwyth?"

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The next morning Ianto sat in a row on one side of the table with Jack on his left and Martha on his right, Gwen on Jack's other side. Across the table from them sat Jenny McGregor, who looked both nervous and defensive.

Five minutes ago Dr Henriett Thompson had left the room as the new Torchwood Medical Officer.

Ianto had Jenny's report on the alien technology on the table in front of him. She had, wrongly, concluded that the piece of tech was a weapon that manipulated a person's brainwaves in order to send them into a comatose state.

It was, in fact, the Altrusian equivalent of an iPod.

"Jenny," Jack said, breaking the contemplative silence. "You're brilliant and funny and a wicked shot, but I am afraid that at this time we cannot offer you a position at Torchwood Three."

Jenny looked crushed even though she attempted to hide it. Ianto spoke softly to her with an encouraging smile on his face, "However, we would like the offer you training with Torchwood Cardiff one weekend of every month until such time as we are convinced that you are ready to join the team."

Jenny looked surprised, then happy, then grateful; finally her face took on its usual wry smirk, "Let's face it, Jones, you just didn't want to compete with my legendary paperwork skills." She stood and held out a hand to Jack.

"Thank you, Captain, I certainly appreciate it."

Jack shook her hand with a charming grin. "Give my regards to Archie."

"No chance, anything you have for Archie you give it to him yourself."

Jenny shook hands with each of them before leaving the room and motioning to Robert that he should go in.

Ianto watched with amusement as Robert nervously made his way into the room and sat in the chair that Jenny had just vacated. Ianto glanced down at Robert's report; he had guessed that the piece of tech was some sort of musical instrument, which wasn't exact, but it was pretty damn close considering he only had one day to work on it.

Jack didn't bother with preamble, he simply stood up, walked around the table, grabbed Robert's head in his two hands and kissed him soundly on the lips. Gwen and Martha cheered whilst Ianto looked on exasperated. Jack drew back and beamed. "Welcome to the team."

Then he hit the floor from the impact of Robert's fist meeting his face.

Ianto walked around the table to stand beside Robert; he took a look over the technician's shoulder at Jack's prone body and put a friendly hand on Robert's shoulder.

"Welcome to Torchwood."

Thanks for reading and reviewing guys, I really appreciate it! :D


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